PRAIRIE 


Prairie  Folks 


By 

HAMLIN    GARLAND 

Author  of 

Main-Travelled  Roads 

Rose  of  Butcher's  Coolly 

The  Trail  of  the  Goldseekers 

Boy  Life  on  the  Prairie,  etc. 


New  Edition 
Revised  and  Enlarged 


New  York 
The  Macmillan  Company 

London :  Macmillan  &  Co.,  Ltd. 
1899 


COPYRIGHT,   1892, 
BY    HAMLIN    GARLAND. 

COPYRIGHT,   1899, 
BY    HAMLIN    GARLAND. 


Norwood  Press 

J.  S.  Cutting  &  Co.— Berwick  &  Smith 
Nor<woody  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


Prairie   Folks 


PS173Z 


PRAIRIE  FOLKS 


PIONEERS 

They  rise  to  mastery  of  wind  and  snow  ; 

They  go  like  soldiers  grimly  into  strife, 
To  colonize  the  plain  ;  they  plough  and  sow, 

And  fertilize  the  sod  with  their  own  life 
As  did  the  Indian  and  the  buffalo. 

SETTLERS 

Above  them  soars  a  dazzling  sky, 
In  winter  blue  and  clear  as  steel, 

In  summer  like  an  arctic  sea 

Wherein  vast  icebergs  drift  and  reel 

And  melt  like  sudden  sorcery. 

Beneath  them  plains  stretch  far  and  fair, 
Rich  with  sunlight  and  with  rain  ; 

Vast  harvests  ripen  with  their  care 
And  fill  with  overplus  of  grain 

Their  square,  great  bins. 

Yet  still  they  strive  !  I  see  them  rise 
At  dawn-light,  going  forth  to  toil  : 

The  same  salt  sweat  has  filled  my  eyes, 
My  feet  have  trod  the  self-same  soil 

Behind  the  snarling  plough. 


Preface 

THE  stories  which  make  up  PRAIRIE  FOLKS  were 
written  at  about  the  same  time  with  those  contained  in 
"  Main-Travelled  Roads,"  and  the  volume  may  be  con 
sidered  a  companion  piece  or  second  series.  In  the  first 
volume  some  stories  not  of  the  prairie  country  were  in 
cluded,  and  the  plan  of  the  book  brought  together  stories 
peculiarly  sombre  in  effect ;  in  u  Prairie  Folks  "  the  tales 
are  nearly  all  of  the  prairie  lands  of  the  West,  and 
include  many  ruder  as  well  as  younger  types.  Both 
books  refer  to  conditions  that  have  already  passed  or  are 
passing  away.  Some  of  them  refer  to  border  life  of 
twenty  or  thirty  years  ago,  others  are  of  more  recent 
date  j  all  are  descriptive  of  life  as  I  saw  it,  and  are 
written  without  regard  to  any  other  point  of  view. 

HAMLIN   GARLAND. 

WEST  SALEM,  Wis., 
August  1 6,  1899. 


Contents 

Page 

Introductory  Verse v 

Preface  .  ...  .        vii 

Then  It's  Spring  (Verse)  .  .  2 

William  Bacon's  Man       .....  3 

April  Days  (Verse)          .          .  .  .26 

Elder  Pill,  Preacher          ...  .29 

A  Day  of  Grace 65 

A  Farmer's  Wife  (Verse)          ...  -79 

Lucretia  Burns         .          .          .          .          •          •          •83* 
Logan  at  Peach  Tree  Creek  (Verse)   .  .          .      118 

Some  Village  Cronies 123 

The  War  of  Race  (Verse) i38 

Drifting  Crane 139 

Paid  his  Way  (Verse)  .  .  .  .  .  -.  149 
Daddy  Deering  .  .  '  .  .  •  •  •  1 5  5 
Horsus  Chawin'  Hay  (Verse)  .  .  .  .176 

Black  Ephram 181 

Across  the  Picket- Line  (Verse)  .          .          .          •      J94 

The  Wapseypinnicon  Tiger        .          .          .          •          •      I99 

Coin'  Back  T'morrer  (Verse) 210 

Aidgewise  Feelin's  .          .          .          .          .          .          .215 

Growing  Old  (Verse)      .          .          .          .        . .          .254 

The  Sociable  at  Dudley's  .          .          .  .      259 

An  Afterword  :  Of  Winds,  Snows,  and  the  Stars  (Verse)      284 

ix 


WILLIAM    BACON'S    MAN 


THEN   IT'S   SPRING 

WHEN  the  hens  begin  a-squawkin' 

An'  a-rollin'  in  the  dust ; 
When  the  rooster  takes  to  talkin', 

An'  a-crowin'  fit  to  bust ; 
When  the  crows  are  cawin',  flockin', 

An'  the  chickuns  boom  and  sing, 
Then  it's  spring ! 

When  the  roads  are  jest  one  mud-hole 
And  the  worter  tricklin'  round 

Makes  the  barn-yard  like  a  puddle, 
An'  softens  up  the  ground 

Till  y'r  ankle-deep  in  worter, 

Say  in'  words  y'r  hadn't  orter — 
When  the  jay-birds  swear  an'  sing, 
Then  it's  spring ! 


WILLIAM    BACON'S   MAN 


THE  yellow  March  sun  lay  powerfully  on  the  bare 
Iowa  prairie,  where  the  ploughed  fields  were  already  turn 
ing  warm  and  brown,  and  only  here  and  there  in  a  corner 
or  on  the  north  side  of  the  fence  did  the  sullen  drifts 
remain,  and  they  were  so  dark  and  low  that  they  hardly 
appeared  to  break  the  mellow  brown  of  the  fields. 

There  passed  also  an  occasional  flock  of  geese,  cheer 
ful  harbingers  of  spring,  and  the  prairie-chickens  had 
set  up  their  morning  symphony,  wide-swelling,  wonderful 
with  its  prophecy  of  the  new  birth  of  grass  and  grain 
and  the  springing  life  of  all  breathing  things.  The  crow 
passed  now  and  then,  uttering  his  resonant  croak,  but 
the  crane  had  not  yet  sent  forth  his  bugle  note. 

Lyman  Oilman  rested  on  his  axe-helve  at  the  wood 
pile  of  Farmer  Bacon  to  listen  to  the  music  around  him. 
In  a  vague  way  he  was  powerfully  moved  by  it.  He 
heard  the  hens  singing  their  weird,  raucous,  monotonous 
song,  and  saw  them  burrowing  in  the  dry  chip-dust  near 
him.  He  saw  the  young  colts  and  cattle  frisking  in  the 
sunny  space  around  the  straw-stacks,  absorbed  through 
his  bare  arms  and  uncovered  head  the  heat  of  the  sun, 
and  felt  the  soft  wooing  of  the  air  so  deeply  that  he 
broke  into  an  unwonted  exclamation  :  — 

3 


4  Prairie  Folks 

"  Glory  !   we'll  be  seeding  by  Friday,  sure." 

This  short  and  disappointing  soliloquy  was,  after  all, 
an  expression  or*  deep  emotion.  To  the  Western  farmer 
the  very  word  "  seeding "  is  a  poem.  And  these  few 
words,  coming  from  Lyman  Gilman,  meant  more  and 
expressed  more  than  many  a  large  and  ambitious  spring 
time  song. 

But  the  glory  of  all  the  slumbrous  landscape,  the  stately 
beauty  of  the  sky  with  its  masses  of  fleecy  vapor,  were 
swept  away  by  the  sound  of  a  girl's  voice  humming, 
"  Come  to  the  Saviour,"  while  she  bustled  about  the 
kitchen  near  by.  The  windows  were  open.  Ah  !  what 
suggestion  to  these  dwellers  in  a  rigorous  climate  was  in 
the  first  unsealing  of  the  windows  !  How  sweet  it  was 
to  the  pale  and  weary  women  after  their  long  imprison 
ment  ! 

As  Lyman  sat  down  on  his  maple  log  to  hear  better, 
a  plump  face  appeared  at  the  window,  and  a  clear,  girl- 
voice  said  :  — 

"  Smell  anything,  Lime  ?  " 

He  snuffed  the  air.  "  Cookies,  by  the  great  horn 
spoons  !  "  he  yelled,  leaping  up.  "  Bring  me  some,  an' 
see  me  eat ;  it'll  do  ye  good." 

u  Come  an'  get  'm,"  laughed  the  face  at  the  window. 

"  Oh,  it's  nicer  out  here,  Merry  Etty.  What's  the 
rush  ?  Bring  me  out  some,  an'  set  down  on  this  log." 

With  a  nod  Marietta  disappeared,  and  soon  came  out 
with  a  plate  of  cookies  in  one  hand  and  a  cup  of  milk  in 
the  other. 

"  Poor  little  man,  he's  all  tired  out,  ain't  he  ?  " 


William  Bacon's  Man  5 

Lime,  taking  the  cue,  collapsed  in  a  heap,  and  said 
feebly,  «  Bread,  bread  !  " 

"  Won't  milk  an'  cookies  do  as  well  ?  " 

He  brushed  off  the  log  and  motioned  her  to  sit  down 
beside  him,  but  she  hesitated  a  little  and  colored  a  little. 

"  Oh,  Lime,  s'pose  somebody  should  see  us  ?  " 

"  Let  'em.  What  in  thunder  do  we  care  ?  Sit  down 
an'  gimme  a  holt  o'  them  cakes.  I'm  just  about  done 
up.  I  couldn't  'a*  stood  it  another  minute." 

She  sat  down  beside  him  with  a  laugh  and  a  pretty 
blush.  She  was  in  her  apron,  and  the  sleeves  of  her 
dress  were  rolled  to  her  elbows,  displaying  the  strong, 
round  arms.  Wholesome  and  sweet  she  looked  and 
smelled,  the  scent  of  the  cooking  round  her.  Lyman 
munched  a  couple  of  the  cookies  and  gulped  a  pint  of 
milk  before  he  spoke. 

"  Whadda  we  care  who  sees  us  sittin'  side  b'  side  ? 
Ain't  we  goin'  t'  be  married  soon  ?  " 

"  Oh,  them  cookies  in  the  oven  !  "  she  shrieked,  leap 
ing  up  and  running  to  the  house.  She  looked  back  as 
she  reached  the  kitchen  door,  however,  and  smiled  with 
a  flushed  face.  Lime  slapped  his  knee  and  roared  with 
laughter  at  his  bold  stroke. 

"Ho!  ho!"  he  laughed.  "Didn't  I  do  it  slick? 
Ain't  nothin'  green  in  my  eye,  I  guess."  In  an  intense 
and  pleasurable  abstraction  he  finished  the  cookies  and 
the  milk.  Then  he  yelled  :  — 

"  Hey  !      Merry  —  Merry  Etty  !  " 

u  Whadda  ye  want  ?  "  sang  the  girl  from  the  window, 
her  face  still  rosy  with  confusion. 


6  Prairie  Folks 

"  Come  out  here  and  git  these  things." 

The  girl  shook  her  head,  with  a  laugh. 

"  Come  out  an'  git  'm,  'r,  by  jingo,  I'll  throw  'em  at 
ye  !  Come  on,  now  !  " 

The  girl  looked  at  the  huge,  handsome  fellow,  the 
sun  falling  on  his  golden  hair  and  beard,  and  came 
slowly  out  to  him  —  came  creeping  along  with  her  hand 
outstretched  for  the  plate  which  Lime,  with  a  laugh  in  his 
sunny  blue  eyes,  extended  at  the  full  length  of  his  bare- 
arm.  The  girl  made  a  snatch  at  it,  but  his  left  hand 
caught  her  by  the  wrist,  and  away  went  cup  and  plate  as  he 
drew  her  to  him  and  kissed  her  in  spite  of  her  struggles. 

"  My  !  ain't  you  strong  !  "  she  said,  half  ruefully  and 
half  admiringly,  as  she  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  If 
you'd  use  a  little  more  o'  that  choppin'  wood,  Dad 
wouldn't  'a'  lost  s'  much  money  by  yeh." 

Lime  grew  grave. 

"There's  the  hog  in  the  fence,  Merry;  what's  yer 
dad  goin'  t'  say  —  " 

"  About  what  ?  " 

"  About  our  gitt'n  married  this  spring." 

"  I  guess  you'd  better  find  out  what  Tm  a-goin'  t' 
say,  Lime  Oilman,  'fore  you  pitch  into  Dad." 

"I  know  what  you're  a-goin'  t'  say." 

"No,y'  don't." 

"  Yes,  but  I  do,  though." 

"Well,  ask  me,  and  see,  if  you  think  you're  so  smart. 
Jest  as  like  's  not,  you'll  slip  up." 

"All  right;  here  goes.  Marietty  Bacon,  ain't  you 
an'  Lime  Oilman  goin'  t'  be  married  ?  " 


William  Bacon's   Man  7 

"  No,  sir,  we  ain't,"  laughed  the  girl,  snatching  up 
the  plate  and  darting  away  to  the  house,  where  she 
struck  up  u  Weevily  Wheat,"  and  went  busily  on  about 
her  cooking.  Lime  threw  a  kiss  at  her,  and  fell  to 
work  on  his  log  with  startling  energy. 

Lyman  looked  forward  to  his  interview  with  the  old  man 
with  as  much  trepidation  as  he  had  ever  known,  though 
commonly  he  had  little  fear  of  anything  — but  a  girl. 

Marietta  was  not  only  the  old  man's  only  child,  but 
his  housekeeper,  his  wife  having  at  last  succumbed  to 
the  ferocious  toil  of  the  farm.  It  was  reasonable  to 
suppose,  therefore,  that  he  would  surrender  his  claim  on 
the  girl  reluctantly.  Rough  as  he  was,  he  loved  Mari 
etta  strongly,  and  would  find  it  exceedingly  hard  to  get 
along  without  her. 

Lyman  mused  on  these  things  as  he  drove  the  gleam 
ing  axe  into  the  huge  maple  logs.  He  was  something 
more  than  the  usual  hired  man,  being  a  lumberman  from 
the  Wisconsin  pineries,  where  he  had  sold  out  his  inter 
est  in  a  camp  not  three  weeks  before  the  day  he  began 
work  for  Bacon.  He  had  a  nice  "  little  wad  o'  money  " 
when  he  left  the  camp  and  started  for  La  Crosse,  but 
he  had  been  robbed  in  his  hotel  the  first  night  in  the 
city,  and  was  left  nearly  penniless.  It  was  a  great  blow 
to  him,  for,  as  he  said,  every  cent  of  that  money  "  stood 
fer  hard  knocks  an'  poor  feed.  When  I  smelt  of  it  I 
could  jest  see  the  cold,  frosty  mornin's  and  the  late 
nights.  I  could  feel  the  hot  sun  on  my  back  like  it  was 
when  I  worked  in  the  harvest-field.  By  jingo !  It 
kind  o'  made  my  toes  curl  up." 


8  Prairie  Folks 

But  he  went  resolutely  out  to  work  again,  and  here 
he  was  chopping  wood  in  old  man  Bacon's  yard,  think 
ing  busily  on  the  talk  which  had  just  passed  between 
Marietta  and  himself. 

"  By  jingo  !  "  he  said  all  at  once,  stopping  short, 
with  the  axe  on  his  shoulder.  "  If  I  hadn't  'a'  been 
robbed  I  wouldn't  'a'  come  here  —  I  never'd  met  Merry. 
Thunder  and  jimson  root  !  Wasn't  that  a  narrow  es 
cape  ?  " 

And  then  he  laughed  so  heartily  that  the  girl  looked 
out  of  the  window  again  to  see  what  in  the  world  he 
was  doing.  He  had  his  hat  in  his  hand  and  was  whack 
ing  his  thigh  with  it. 

"  Lyman  Oilman,  what  in  the  world  ails  you  to-day  ? 
It's  perfectly  ridiculous  the  way  you  yell  and  talk  t' 
y'rself  out  there  on  the  chips.  You  beat  the  hens,  I 
declare  if  you  don't." 

Lime  put  on  his  hat  and  walked  up  to  the  window, 
and,  resting  his  great  bare  arms  on  the  sill,  and  his  chin 
on  his  arms,  said  :  — 

"Merry,  I'm  goin'  to  tackle  'Dad'  this  afternoon. 
He'll  be  sittin'  up  the  new  seeder,  and  I'm  goin'  t' 
climb  right  on  the  back  of  his  neck.  He's  jest  got  t' 
give  me  a  chance." 

Marietta  looked  sober  in  sympathy. 

"Well !  P'raps  it's  best  to  have  it  over  with,  Lime, 
but  someway  I  feel  kind  o'  scary  about  it." 

Lime  stood  for  a  long  time  looking  in  at  the  window, 
watching  the  light-footed  girl  as  she  set  the  table  in  the 
middle  of  the  sun-lighted  kitchen  floor.  The  kettle 


William  Bacon's  Man  9 

hissed,  the  meat  sizzled,  sending  up  a  delicious  odor; 
a  hen  stood  in  the  open  door  and  sang  a  sort  of  cheery 
half-human  song,  while  to  and  fro  moved  the  sweet- 
faced,  lithe,  and  powerful  girl,  followed  by  the  smiling 
eyes  at  the  window. 

u  Merry,  you  look  purty  as  a  picture.  You  look  just 
like  the  wife  I  be'n  a-huntin'  for  all  these  years,  sure  's 
shootin  V 

Marietta  colored  with  pleasure. 

"  Does  Dad  pay  you  to  stand  an'  look  at  me  an'  say 
pretty  things  t'  the  cook  ?  " 

"No,  he  don't.  But  I'm  willin'  t'  do  it  without 
pay.  I  could  just  stand  here  till  kingdom  come  an'  look 
at  you.  Hello !  I  hear  a  wagon.  I  guess  I  better 
hump  into  that  woodpile." 

"  I  think  so  too.  Dinner's  most  ready,  and  Dad  '11 
be  here  soon." 

Lime  was  driving  away  furiously  at  a  tough  elm  log 
when  Farmer  Bacon  drove  into  the  yard  with  a  new 
seeder  in  his  wagon.  Lime  whacked  away  busily  while 
Bacon  stabled  the  team,  and  in  a  short  time  Marietta 
called,  in  a  long-drawn,  musical  fashion :  — 

"  Dinner-r-r  !  " 

After  sozzling  their  faces  at  the  well  the  two  men 
went  in  and  sat  down  at  the  table.  Bacon  was  not 
much  of  a  talker  at  any  time,  and  at  meal-time,  in  seed 
ing,  eating  was  the  main  business  in  hand ;  therefore  the 
meal  was  a  silent  one,  Marietta  and  Lime  not  caring  to 
talk  on  general  topics.  The  hour  was  an  anxious  one 
for  her,  and  an  important  one  for  him. 


io  Prairie  Folks 

u  Wai,  now,  Lime,  seedun'  's  the  nex'  thing,"  said 
Bacon,  as  he  shoved  back  his  chair  and  glared  around 
from  under  his  bushy  eyebrows.  u  We  can't  do  too 
much  this  afternoon.  That  seeder's  got  t'  be  set  up 
an'  a  lot  o'  seed-wheat  cleaned  up.  You  unload  the 
machine  while  I  feed  the  pigs." 

Lime  sat  still  till  the  old  man  was  heard  outside  call 
ing  "  Oo-ee,  poo-ee  "  to  the  pigs  in  the  yard ;  then  he 
smiled  at  Marietta,  but  she  said :  — 

"  He's  got  on  one  of  his  fits,  Lime ;  I  don't  b'lieve 
you'd  better  tackle  him  t'-day." 

"  Don't  you  worry ;  I'll  fix  him.  Come,  now,  give 
me  a  kiss." 

"  Why,  you  great  thing  !     You  —  took  —  " 

u  I  know,  but  I  want  you  to  give  'em  to  me.  Just 
walk  right  up  to  me  an'  give  me  a  smack  t'  bind  the 
bargain." 

"  I  ain't  made  any  bargain,"  laughed  the  girl.  Then, 
feeling  the  force  of  his  tender  tone,  she  added  :  "  Will 
you  behave,  and  go  right  off  to  your  work  ?  " 

"  Jest  like  a  little  man  —  hope  t'  die  !  " 

"  Lime  !  "  roared  the  old  man  from  the  barn. 

"  Hello  !  "  replied  Lime,  grinning  joyously  and  wink 
ing  at  the  girl,  as  much  as  to  say,  u  This  would  paralyze 
the  old  man  if  he  saw  it." 

He  went  out  to  the  shed  where  Bacon  was  at  work, 
as  serene  as  if  he  had  not  a  fearful  task  on  hand.  He 
was  apprehensive  that  the  father  might  "  gig  back " 
unless  rightly  approached,  and  so  he  awaited  a  good 
opportunity. 


William  Bacon's  Man  1 1 

The  right  moment  seemed  to  present  itself  along 
about  the  middle  of  the  afternoon.  Bacon  was  down 
on  the  ground  under  the  machine,  tightening  some 
burrs.  This  was  a  good  chance  for  two  reasons.  In 
the  first  place,  the  keen,  almost  savage  eyes  were  no 
longer  where  they  could  glare  on  him,  and  in  spite  of 
his  cool  exterior  Lime  had  just  as  soon  not  have  the  old 
man  looking  at  him. 

Besides,  the  old  farmer  had  been  telling  about  his 
"river  eighty,"  which  was  without  a  tenant;  the  man 
who  had  taken  it,  having  lost  his  wife,  had  grown  dis 
heartened  and  had  given  it  up. 

"  It's  an  almighty  good  chance  for  a  man  with  a  small 
family.  Good  house  an'  barn,  good  land.  A  likely 
young  feller  with  a  team  an'  a  woman  could  do  tiptop 
on  that  eighty.  If  he  wanted  more,  I'd  let  him  have  an 
eighty  j'inun'  —  " 

"  I'd  like  t'  try  that  m'self,"  said  Lime,  as  a  feeler. 
The  old  fellow  said  nothing  in  reply  for  a  moment. 

"  Ef  you  had  a  team  an'  tools  an'  a  woman,  I'd  jest 
as  lief  you'd  have  it  as  anybody." 

"  Sell  me  your  blacks,  and  I'll  pay  half  down  —  the 
balance  in  the  fall.  I  can  pick  up  some  tools,  and  as 
for  a  woman,  Merry  Etty  an'  me  have  talked  that  over 
to-day.  She's  ready  to  —  ready  to  marry  me  whenever 
you  say  go." 

There  was  an  ominous  silence  under  the  seeder,  as  if 
the  father  could  not  believe  his  ears. 

"What's  — what's  that!"  he  stuttered.  "Who'd 
you  say  ?  What  about  Merry  Etty  ?  " 


12  Prairie  Folks 

"  She's  agreed  to  marry  me." 

"  The  hell  you  say ! "  roared  Bacon,  as  the  truth 
burst  upon  him.  "  So  that's  what  you  do  when  I  go  off 
to  town  and  leave  you  to  chop  wood.  So  you're  goun'  to 
git  married,  hey  ?  " 

He  was  now  where  Lime  could  see  him,  glaring  up 
into  his  smiling  blue  eyes.  Lime  stood  his  ground. 

"  Yes,  sir.     That's  the  calculation." 

"  Well,  I  guess  I'll  have  somethin'  t'  say  about  that," 
said  Bacon,  nodding  his  head  violently. 

"  I  rather  expected  y'  would.  Blaze  away.  Your 
privilege  —  my  bad  luck.  Sail  in  oP  man.  What's 
y'r  objection  to  me  fer  a  son-in-law  ?  " 

u  Don't  you  worry,  young  feller.  I'll  come  at  it  soon 
enough,"  went  on  Bacon,  as  he  turned  up  another  burr 
in  a  very  awkward  corner.  In  his  nervous  excitement 
the  wrench  slipped,  banging  his  knuckle. 

"  Ouch  !  Thunder  —  m-m-m  !  "  howled  and  snarled 
the  wounded  man. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  Bark  y'r  knuckle  ?  "  queried 
Lime,  feeling  a  mighty  impulse  to  laugh.  But  when  he 
saw  the  old  savage  straighten  up  and  glare  at  him  he 
sobered.  Bacon  was  now  in  a  frightful  temper.  The 
veins  in  his  great,  bare,  weather-beaten  neck  swelled 
dangerously. 

ujest  let  me  say  right  here  that  I've  had  enough  o' 
you.  You  can't  live  on  the  same  acre  with  my  girl 
another  day." 

"  What  makes  ye  think  I  can't  ?  "  It  was  now  the 
young  man's  turn  to  draw  himself  up,  and  as  he  faced 


William   Bacon's   Man  13 

the  old  man,  his  arms  folded  and  each  vast  hand  grasping 
an  elbow,  he  looked  like  a  statue  of  red  granite,  and  the 
hands  resembled  the  paws  of  a  crouching  lion  ;  but  his 
eyes  smiled. 

"  I  don't  think,  I  know  ye  won't." 

"  What's  the  objection  to  me  ?  " 

"  Objection  ?  Hell !  What's  the  inducement  ?  My 
hired  man,  an'  not  three  shirts  to  yer  back !  " 

" That's  another;  I've  got  four.  Say,  old  man,  did 
you  ever  work  out  for  a  living  ?  " 

u  That's  none  o'  your  business,"  growled  Bacon  a 
little  taken  down.  u  I've  worked  an'  scraped,  an'  got 
t'gether  a  little  prop'ty  here,  an'  they  ain't  no  sucker 
like  you  goun'  to  come  'long  here,  an'  live  off  me,  an' 
spend  my  prop'ty  after  I'm  dead.  You  can  jest  bet 
high  on  that." 

"  Who's  goin'  t'  live  on  ye  ?  " 

"  You're  aimun'  to." 

"  I  ain't,  neither." 

"Yes,  y'are.  You've  loafed  on  me  ever  since  I 
hired  ye." 

"That's  a  —  "  Lime  checked  himself  for  Marietta's 
sake,  and  the  enraged  father  went  on  :  — 

"I  hired  ye  t'  cut  wood,  an'  you've  gone  an'  fooled 
my  daughter  away  from  me.  Now  you  just  figger  up 
what  I  owe  ye,  and  git  out  o'  here.  Ye  can't  go  too 
soon  t'  suit  me" 

Bacon  was  renowned  as  the  hardest  man  to  handle  in 
Cedar  County,  and  though  he  was  getting  old,  he  was 
still  a  terror  to  his  neighbors  when  roused.  He  was 


14  Prairie  Folks 

honest,  temperate,  and  a  good  neighbor  until  something 
carried  him  off  his  balance  ;  then  he  became  as  cruel  as  a 
panther  and  as  savage  as  a  grisly.  All  this  Lime  knew, 
but  it  did  not  keep  his  anger  down  so  much  as  did  the 
thought  of  Marietta.  His  silence  infuriated  Bacon,  who 
yelled  hoarsely  :  — 

"  Git  out  o'  this  !  " 

"  Don't  be  in  a  rush,  ol'  man  —  " 

Bacon  hurled  himself  upon  Lime,  who  threw  out  one 
hand  and  stopped  him,  while  he  said  in  a  low  voice  :  — 

"  Stay  right  where  you  are,  ol'  man.  I'm  dangerous. 
It's  for  Merry's  sake  — " 

The  infuriated  old  man  struck  at  him.  Lime  warded 
off  the  blow,  and  with  a  sudden  wrench  and  twist  threw 
him  to  the  ground  with  frightful  force.  Before  Bacon 
could  rise,  Marietta,  who  had  witnessed  the  scene,  came 
flying  from  the  house. 

"  Lime  !     Father  !     What  are  you  doing  ?  " 

"I — couldn't  help  it,  Merry.  It  was  him  'r  me," 
said  Lime,  almost  sadly. 

"  Dad,  ain't  you  got  no  sense  ?  What  're  you  think 
ing  of?  You  jest  stop  right  now.  I  won't  have  it." 

He  rose  while  she  clung  to  him ;  he  seemed  a  little 
dazed.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  been  thrown, 
and  he  could  not  but  feel  a  certain  respect  for  his  oppo 
nent,  but  he  could  not  give  way. 

"  Pack  up  yer  duds,"  he  snarled,  "  an'  git  off'n  my 
land.  I'll  have  the  money  fer  ye  when  ye  come  back. 
I'll  give  ye  jest  five  minutes  to  git  clear  o'  here.  Merry, 
you  stay  here." 


William  Bacon's  Man  15 

The  young  man  saw  it  was  useless  to  remain,  as  it 
would  only  excite  the  old  man ;  and  so,  with  a  look  of 
apology,  not  without  humor,  at  Marietta,  he  went  to  the 
house  to  get  his  valise.  The  girl  wept  silently  while  the 
father  raged  up  and  down.  His  mood  frightened  her. 

"  I  thought  ye  had  more  sense  than  t'  take  up  with 
such  a  dirty  houn'." 

"  He  ain't  a  houn',"  she  blazed  forth,  "and  he's  just 
as  good  and  clean  as  you  are." 

"  Shut  up  !  Don't  let  me  hear  another  word  out  o' 
your  head.  I'm  boss  here  yet,  I  reckon." 

Lime  came  out  with  his  valise  in  his  hand. 

"  Good-by,  Merry,"  he  said  cheerily.  She  started  to 
go  to  him,  but  her  father's  rough  grasp  held  her. 

"  Set  down,  an'  stay  there." 

Lime  was  going  out  of  the  gate. 

"  Here !  Come  and  get  y'r  money,"  yelled  the  old 
man,  extending  some  bills.  "  Here's  twenty  —  " 

"  Go  to  thunder  with  your  money,"  retorted  Lime. 
u  I've  had  my  pay  for  my  month's  work."  As  he  said 
that,  he  thought  of  the  sunny  kitchen  and  the  merry 
girl,  and  his  throat  choked.  Good-by  to  the  sweet  girl 
whose  smile  was  so  much  to  him,  and  to  the  happy 
noons  and  nights  her  eyes  had  made  for  him.  He 
waved  his  hat  at  her  as  he  stood  in  the  open  gate,  and 
the  sun  lighted  his  handsome  head  into  a  sort  of  glory 
in  her  eyes.  Then  he  turned  and  walked  rapidly  oft' 
down  the  road,  not  looking  back. 

The  girl,  when  she  could  no  longer  see  him,  dashed 
away,  and,  sobbing  violently,  entered  the  house. 


1 6  Prairie  Folks 


II 

THERE  was  just  a  suspicion  of  light  in  the  east,  a 
mere  hint  of  a  glow,  when  Lyman  walked  cautiously 
around  the  corner  of  the  house  and  tapped  at  Mari 
etta's  window.  She  was  sleeping  soundly  and  did  not 
hear,  for  she  had  been  restless  during  the  first  part  of 
the  night.  He  tapped  again,  and  the  girl  woke  without 
knowing  what  woke  her. 

Lyman  put  the  blade  of  his  pocket-knife  under  the 
window  and  raised  it  a  little,  and  then  placed  his  lips  to 
the  crack,  and  spoke  in  a  sepulchral  tone,  half  groan, 
half  whisper  :  — 

"  Merry  !   Merry  Etty  !  " 

The  dazed  girl  sat  up  in  bed  and  listened,  while  her 
heart  almost  stood  still. 

"Merry,  it's  me  —  Lime.  Come  to  the  winder." 
The  girl  hesitated,  and  Lyman  spoke  again. 

"  Come,  I  hain't  got  much  time.  This  is  your  last 
chance  t'  see  me.  It's  now  'r  never." 

The  girl  slipped  out  of  bed,  and,  wrapping  herself  in 
a  shawl,  crept  to  the  window. 

"  Boost  on  that  winder,"  commanded  Lyman.  She 
raised  it  enough  to  admit  his  head,  which  came  just 
above  the  sill ;  then  she  knelt  on  the  floor  by  the  win 
dow. 

Her  eyes  stared  wide  and  dark. 

"  Lime,  what  in  the  world  do  you  mean  —  " 

"  I   mean    business,"    he    replied.       u  I   ain't    no   last 


William   Bacon's   Man  17 

year's  chicken ;  I  know  when  the  old  man  sleeps  the 
soundest."  He  chuckled  pleasantly. 

"  How  'd  y'  fool  old  Rove  ?  " 

"  Never  mind  about  that  now  ;  they's  something 
more  important  on  hand.  You've  got  t'  go  with 
me." 

She  drew  back.     "  Oh,  Lime,  I  can't !  " 

He  thrust  a  great  arm  in  and  caught  her  by  the 
wrist. 

"  Yes,  y'  can.  This  is  y'r  last  chance.  If  I  go  off 
without  ye  t'night,  I  never  come  back.  What  makes  ye 
gig  back  ?  Are  ye  'fraid  o'  me  ?  " 

"  N-no  ;  but  —  but  —  " 

"  But  what,  Merry  Etty  ?  " 

"  It  ain't  right  to  go  an'  leave  Dad  all  alone.  Where 
y'  goin'  t'  take  me,  anyhow  ?  " 

"Milt  Jennings  let  me  have  his  horse  an'  buggy; 
they're  down  the  road  a  piece,  an'  we'll  go  right  down 
to  Rock  River  and  be  married  by  sun-up." 

The  girl  still  hesitated,  her  firm,  boyish  will  un- 
wontedly  befogged.  Resolute  as  she  was,  she  could  not 
at  once  accede  to  his  demand. 

"  Come,  make  up  your  mind  soon.  The  old  man  '11 
fill  me  with  buck-shot  if  he  catches  sight  o'  me."  He 
drew  her  arm  out  of  the  window  and  laid  his  bearded 
cheek  to  it.  u  Come,  little  one,  we're  made  for  each 
other ;  God  knows  it.  Come  !  It's  him  'r  me." 

The  girl's  head  dropped,  consented. 

"  That's  right !  Now  a  kiss  to  bind  the  bargain. 
There  !  What,  cryin'  ?  No  more  o'  that,  little  one, 
c 


1 8  Prairie  Folks 

Now  I'll  give  you  jest  five  minutes  to  git  on  your  Sun- 
day-go-t'-meetin'  clo'es.  Quick,  there  goes  a  rooster. 
It's  gittin'  white  in  the  east." 

The  man  turned  his  back  to  the  window  and  gazed 
at  the  western  sky  with  a  wealth  of  unuttered  and  un 
utterable  exultation  in  his  heart.  Far  off  a  rooster  gave 
a  long,  clear  blast  —  would  it  be  answered  in  the  barn  ? 
Yes ;  some  wakeful  ear  had  caught  it,  and  now  the 
answer  came  faint,  muffled,  and  drowsy.  The  dog  at 
his  feet  whined  uneasily  as  if  suspecting  something 
wrong.  The  wind  from  the  south  was  full  of  the  won 
derful  odor  of  springing  grass,  warm,  brown  earth,  and 
oozing  sap.  Overhead,  to  the  west,  the  stars  were 
shining  in  the  cloudless  sky,  dimmed  a  little  in  bright 
ness  by  the  faint  silvery  veil  of  moisture  in  the  air.  The 
man's  soul  grew  very  tender  as  he  stood  waiting  for  his 
bride.  He  was  rough,  illiterate,  yet  there  was  some 
thing  fine  about  him  after  all,  a  kind  of  simplicity  and  a 
gigantic,  leonine  tenderness. 

He  heard  his  sweetheart  moving  about  inside,  and 
mused  :  "  The  old  man  won't  hold  out  when  he  finds 
we're  married.  He  can't  get  along  without  her.  If  he 
does,  why,  I'll  rent  a  farm  here,  and  we'll  go  to  work 
housekeepin'.  I  can  git  the  money.  She  shan't  always 
be  poor,"  he  ended,  and  the  thought  was  a  vow. 

The  window  was  raised  again,  and  the  girl's  voice 
was  heard  low  and  tremulous  :  — 

"  Lime,  I'm  ready,  but  I  wish  we  didn't  —  " 

He  put  his  arm  around  her  waist  and  helped  her  out, 
and  did  not  put  her  down  till  they  reached  the  road. 


William   Bacon's  Man  19 

She  was  completely  dressed,  even  to  her  hat  and  shoes, 
but  she  mourned  :  — 

"  My  hair  is  every-which-way ;  Lime,  how  can  I  be 
married  so  ?  " 

They  were  nearing  the  horse  and  buggy  now,  and 
Lime  laughed.  "  Oh,  we'll  stop  at  Jennings's  and  fix 
up.  Milt  knows  what's  up,  and  has  told  his  mother  by 
this  time.  So  just  laugh  as  jolly  as  you  can." 

Soon  they  were  in  the  buggy,  the  impatient  horse 
swung  into  the  road  at  a  rattling  pace,  and  as  Marietta 
leaned  back  in  the  seat,  thinking  of  what  she  had  done, 
she  cried  lamentably,  in  spite  of  all  the  caresses  and 
pleadings  of  her  lover. 

But  the  sun  burst  up  from  the  plain,  the  prairie- 
chickens  took  up  their  mighty  chorus  on  the  hills,  robins 
met  them  on  the  way,  flocks  of  wild  geese,  honking 
cheerily,  drove  far  overhead  toward  the  north,  and,  with 
these  sounds  of  a  golden  spring  day  in  her  ears,  the 
bride  grew  cheerful,  and  laughed. 


Ill 

AT  about  the  time  the  sun  was  rising,  Farmer  Bacon, 
roused  from  his  sleep  by  the  crowing  of  the  chickens  on 
the  dry  knolls  in  the  fields  as  well  as  by  those  in  the 
barn-yard,  rolled  out  of  bed  wearily,  wondering  why  he 
should  feel  so  drowsy.  Then  he  remembered  the  row 
with  Lime  and  his  subsequent  inability  to  sleep  with 
thinking  over  it.  There  was  a  dull  pain  in  his  breast, 
which  made  him  uncomfortable. 


2O  Prairie  Folks 

As  was  his  usual  custom,  he  went  out  into  the 
kitchen  and  built  the  fire  for  Marietta,  filled  the  tea 
kettle  with  water,  and  filled  the  water-bucket  in  the 
sink.  Then  he  went  to  her  bedroom  door  and  knocked 
with  his  knuckles  as  he  had  done  for  years  in  precisely 
the  same  fashion. 

Rap  —  rap  —  rap.  "  Hello,  Merry!  Time  t'  git  up. 
Broad  daylight,  an'  birds  asingun.' ' 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer  he  went  out  to  the 
barn  and  worked  away  at  his  chores.  He  took  such 
delight  in  the  glorious  morning  and  the  turbulent  life  of 
the  farmyard  that  his  heart  grew  light  and  he  hummed 
a  tune  which  sounded  like  the  merry  growl  of  a  lion. 
"  Poo-ee,  poo-ee,"  he  called  to  the  pigs  as  they  swarmed 
across  the  yard. 

"  Ahrr !  you  big,  fat  rascals,  them  hams  o'  yourn  is 
clear  money.  One  of  ye  shall  go  t'  buy  Merry  a  new 
dress,"  he  said  as  he  glanced  at  the  house  and  saw  the 
smoke  pouring  out  the  stovepipe.  "  Merry  's  a  good 
girl ;  she's  stood  by  her  old  pap  when  other  girls  'u'd  'a' 
gone  back  on  'im." 

While  currying  horses  he  went  all  over  the  ground 
of  the  quarrel  yesterday,  and  he  began  to  see  it  in  a  differ 
ent  light.  He  began  to  see  that  Lyman  was  a  good 
man  and  an  able  man,  and  that  his  own  course  was  a 
foolish  one. 

"  When  I  git  mad,"  he  confessed  to  himself,  "  I 
don't  know  anythin'.  But  I  won't  give  her  up.  She 
ain't  old  'nough  t'  marry  yet  —  and,  besides,  I  need 
her." 


William  Bacon's   Man  21 

After  finishing  his  chores,  as  usual,  he  went  to  the 
well  and  washed  his  face  and  hands,  then  entered  the 
kitchen  —  to  find  the  tea-kettle  boiling  over,  and  no 
signs  of  breakfast  anywhere,  and  no  sign  of  the  girl. 

"Well,  I  guess  she  felt  sleepy  this  mornin'.  Poor 
gal !  Mebbe  she  cried  half  the  night." 

"  Merry !  "  he  called  gently,  at  the  door. 

"  Merry,  m'  gal !      Pap  needs  his  breakfast." 

There  was  no  reply,  and  the  old  man's  face  stiffened 
into  a  wild  surprise.  He  knocked  heavily  again  and  got 
no  reply,  and,  with  a  white  face  and  shaking  hand,  he 
flung  the  door  open  and  gazed  at  the  empty  bed.  His 
hand  dropped  to  his  side  ;  his  head  turned  slowly  from  the 
bed  to  the  open  window ;  he  rushed  forward  and  looked 
out  on  the  ground,  where  he  saw  the  tracks  of  a  man. 

He  fell  heavily  into  the  chair  by  the  bed,  while  a 
deep  groan  broke  from  his  stiff  and  twitching  lips. 

"She's  left  me!     She's  left  me  !" 

For  a  long  half-hour  the  iron-muscled  old  man  sat 
there  motionless,  hearing  not  the  songs  of  the  hens  or 
the  birds  far  out  in  the  brilliant  sunshine.  He  had  lost 
sight  of  his  farm,  his  day's  work,  and  felt  no  hunger  for 
food.  He  did  not  doubt  that  her  going  was  final.  He 
felt  that  she  was  gone  from  him  forever.  If  she  ever 
came  back  it  would  not  be  as  his  daughter,  but  as  the 
wife  of  Gilman.  She  had  deserted  him,  fled  in  the 
night  like  a  thief;  his  heart  began  to  harden  again,  and 
he  rose  stiffly.  His  native  stubbornness  began  to  assert 
itself,  the  first  great  shock  over,  and  he  went  out  to  the 
kitchen,  and  prepared,  as  best  he  could,  a  breakfast,  and 


22  Prairie  Folks 

sat  down  to  it.  In  some  way  his  appetite  failed  him, 
and  he  fell  to  thinking  over  his  past  life,  of  the  death  of 
his  wife,  and  the  early  death  of  his  only  boy.  He  was 
still  trying  to  think  what  his  life  would  be  in  the  future 
without  his  girl,  when  two  carriages  drove  into  the  yard. 
It  was  about  the  middle  of  the  forenoon,  and  the 
prairie-chickens  had  ceased  to  boom  and  squawk;  in 
fact,  that  was  why  he  knew,  for  he  had  been  sitting 
two  hours  at  the  table.  Before  he  could  rise  he  heard 
swift  feet  and  a  merry  voice  and  Marietta  burst 
through  the  door. 

"Hello,  Pap!  How  you  makin'  out  with  break  — " 
She  saw  a  look  on  his  face  that  went  to  her  heart 
like  a  knife.  She  saw  a  lonely  and  deserted  old  man 
sitting  at  his  cold  and  cheerless  breakfast,  and  with  a 
remorseful  cry  she  ran  across  the  floor  and  took  him  in 
her  arms,  kissing  him  again  and  again,  while  Mr.  John 
Jennings  and  his  wife  stood  in  the  door. 

"  Poor  ol'  Pap  !  Merry  couldn't  leave  you.  She's 
come  back  to  stay  as  long  as  he  lives." 

The  old  man  remained  cold  and  stern.  His  deep 
voice  had  a  relentless  note  in  it  as  he  pushed  her  away 
from  him,  noticing  no  one  else. 

u  But  how  do  you  come  back  t'  me  ?  " 

The  girl  grew  rosy,  but  she  stood  proudly  up. 

"  I  come  back  the  wife  of  a  man,  Pap  ;  a  wife  like  my 
mother,  an*  this  t'  hang  beside  hers ;  "  and  she  laid 
down  a  rolled  piece  of  parchment. 

"  Take  it  an'  go,"  growled  he ;  "  take  yer  lazy  lubber 
an'  git  out  o'  my  sight.  I  raised  ye,  took  keer  o'  ye 


William  Bacon's  Man  23 

when  ye  was  little,  sent  ye  t'  school,  bought  ye  dresses, 
—  done  everythin'  fer  ye  I  could,  'lowin'  t'  have  ye 
stand  by  me  when  I  got  old,  —  but  no,  ye  must  go  back 
on  yer  oP  pap,  an'  go  off  in  the  night  with  a  good-Pr- 
nothin'  houn'  that  nobuddy  knows  anything  about  —  a 
feller  that  never  done  a  thing  fer  ye  in  the  world  —  " 

"  What  did  you  do  for  mother  that  she  left  her  father 
and  mother  and  went  with  you  ?  How  much  did  you 
have  when  you  took  her  away  from  her  good  home  an' 
brought  her  away  out  here  among  the  wolves  an* 
Indians  ?  I've  heard  you  an'  her  say  a  hundred  times 
that  you  didn't  have  a  chair  in  the  house.  Now,  why 
do  you  talk  so  t'  me  when  I  want  t'  git  —  when  Lime 
comes  and  asks  for  me  ?  " 

The  old  man  was  staggered.  He  looked  at  the  smil 
ing  face  of  John  Jennings  and  the  tearful  eyes  of  Mrs. 
Jennings,  who  had  returned  with  Lyman.  But  his  heart 
hardened  again  as  he  caught  sight  of  Lime  looking  in  at 
him.  His  absurd  pride  would  not  let  him  relent.  Lime 
saw  it,  and  stepped  forward. 

"  Ol'  man,  I  want  t'  take  a  little  inning  now.  I'm  a 
fair,  square  man.  I  asked  ye  fer  Merry  as  a  man 
should.  I  told  you  I'd  had  hard  luck,  when  I  first  came 
here.  I  had  five  thousand  dollars  in  clean  cash  stole 
from  me.  I  hain't  got  a  thing  now  except  credit,  but 
that's  good  fer  enough  t'  stock  a  little  farm  with.  Now, 
I  wan'  to  be  fair  and  square  in  this  thing.  You  wan' 
to  rent  a  farm ;  I  need  one.  Let  me  have  the  river 
eighty,  or  I'll  take  the  whole  business  on  a  share  of  a 
third,  an'  Merry  Etty  and  I  to  stay  here  with  you 


24  Prairie  Folks 

jest  as  if  nothin'  'd  happened.  Come,  now,  what  d'  y' 
say  ?  " 

There  was  something  winning  in  the  sturdy  bearing 
of  the  man  as  he  stood  before  the  father,  who  remained 
silent  and  grim. 

"  Or  if  you  don't  do  that,  why,  there's  nothin'  left 
fer  Merry  an*  me  but  to  go  back  to  La  Crosse,  where  I 
can  have  my  choice  of  a  dozen  farms.  Now  this  is  the 
way  things  is  standin'.  I  don't  want  to  be  underhanded 
about  this  thing  —  " 

"That's  a  fair  offer,"  said  Mr.  Jennings  in  the  pause 
which  followed.  "  You'd  better  do  it,  neighbor  Bacon. 
Nobuddy  need  know  how  things  stood ;  they  were 
married  in  my  house  —  I  thought  that  would  be  best. 
You  can't  live  without  your  girl,"  he  went  on,  "any 
more  'n  I  could  without  my  boy.  You'd  better  —  " 

The  figure  at  the  table  straightened  up.  Under  his 
tufted  eyebrows  his  keen  gray  eyes  flashed  from  one  to 
the  other.  His  hands  knotted. 

"  Go  slow  !  "  went  on  the  smooth  voice  of  Jennings, 
known  all  the  country  through  as  a  peacemaker. 
"  Take  time  t'  think  it  over.  Stand  out,  an'  you'll  live 
here  alone  without  chick  'r  child ;  give  in,  and  this 
house  '11  bubble  over  with  noise  and  young  ones.  Now 
is  short,  and  forever's  a  long  time  to  feel  sorry  in." 

The  old  man  at  the  table  knitted  his  eyebrows,  and  a 
distorted,  quivering,  ghastly  smile  broke  out  on  his  face. 
His  chest  heaved;  then  he  burst  forth:  — 

"  Gal,  yank  them  gloves  off,  an'  git  me  something  to 
eat  —  breakfus  'r  dinner,  I  don't  care  which.  Lime, 


William  Bacon's  Man  25 

you  infernal  idiot,  git  out  there  and  gear  up  them  horses. 
What  in  thunder  you  foolun'  round  about  hyere  in 
seedV  ?  Come,  hustle,  all  o'  ye  !  " 

And  they  all  shouted  in  laughter,  while  the  old  man 
strode  unsteadily  but  resolutely  out  toward  the  barn, 
followed  by  the  bridegroom,  who  was  still  laughing  — 
but  silently. 


APRIL   DAYS 

DAYS  of  witchery,  subtly  sweet, 
When  every  hill  and  tree  finds  heart, 
When  winter  and  spring  like  lovers  meet 
In  the  mist  of  noon  and  part  — 
In  the  April  days. 

Nights  when  the  wood-frogs  faintly  peep 
Once  —  twice  —  and  then  are  still, 
And  the  woodpeckers'  martial  voices  sweep 
Like  bugle  notes  from  hill  to  hill  — 
Through  the  pulseless  haze. 

Days  when  the  soil  is  warm  with  rain, 
And  through  the  wood  the  shy  wind  steals, 
Rich  with  the  pine  and  the  poplar  smell, 
And  the  joyous  earth  like  a  dancer  reels 
Through  April  days  ! 


ELDER   PILL,  PREACHER 


ELDER   PILL,   PREACHER 


OLD  MAN  BACON  was  pinching  forked  barbs  on  a 
wire  fence  one  rainy  day  in  July,  when  his  neighbor 
Jennings  came  along  the  road  on  his  way  to  town.  Jen 
nings  never  went  to  town  except  when  it  rained  too  hard 
to  work  outdoors,  his  neighbors  said ;  and  of  old  man 
Bacon  it  was  said  he  never  rested  nights  nor  Sundays. 

Jennings  pulled  up.  u  Good  morning,  neighbor 
Bacon." 

"  Morning"  rumbled  the  old  man  without  looking  up. 

"  Taking  it  easy,  as  usual,  I  see.  Think  it's  going 
to  clear  up  ?  " 

"  May,  an'  may  not.  Don't  make  much  differunce  t* 
me,"  growled  Bacon,  discouragingly. 

"  Heard  about  the  plan  for  a  church  ?  " 

"  Naw." 

"  Well,  we're  goin'  to  hire  Elder  Pill  from  Douglass 
to  come  over  and  preach  every  Sunday  afternoon  at 
the  schoolhouse,  an'  we  want  help  t'  pay  him  —  the 
laborer  is  worthy  of  his  hire." 

"  Sometimes  he  is  an'  then  agin  he  ain't.  Y'  needn't 
look  t'  me  f 'r  a  dollar.  I  ain't  got  no  intrust  in  y'r 
church." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  have  —  besides,  y'r  sister  —  " 
29 


jo  Prairie  Folks 

"  She  ain't  got  no  more  time  'n  I  have  t'  go  t' 
church.  We're  obleeged  to  do  'bout  all  we  c'n  stand 
t'  pay  our  debts,  let  alone  tryun'  to  support  a  preacher." 
And  the  old  man  shut  the  pinchers  up  on  a  barb  with  a 
vicious  grip. 

Easy-going  Mr.  Jennings  laughed  in  his  silent  way. 
"  I  guess  you'll  help  when  the  time  comes,"  he  said, 
and,  clucking  to  his  team,  drove  off. 

"  I  guess  I  won't,"  muttered  the  grizzled  old  giant  as 
he  went  on  with  his  work.  Bacon  was  what  is  called 
land  poor  in  the  West,  that  is,  he  had  more  land  than 
money ;  still  he  was  able  to  give  if  he  felt  disposed.  It 
remains  to  say  that  he  was  not  disposed,  being  a  sceptic 
and  a  scoffer.  It  angered  him  to  have  Jennings  pre 
dict  so  confidently  that  he  would  help. 

The  sun  was  striking  redly  through  a  rift  in  the 
clouds,  about  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  when  he 
saw  a  man  coming  up  the  lane,  walking  on  the  grass  at 
the  side  of  the  road,  and  whistling  merrily.  The  old 
man  looked  at  him  from  under  his  huge  eyebrows  with 
some  curiosity.  As  he  drew  near,  the  pedestrian  ceased 
to  whistle,  and,  just  as  the  farmer  expected  him  to  pass, 
he  stopped  and  said,  in  a  free  and  easy  style  :  — 

u  How  de  do  ?  Give  me  a  chaw  t'baccer.  I'm  Pill, 
the  new  minister.  I  take  fine-cut  when  I  can  get  it," 
he  said,  as  Bacon  put  his  hand  into  his  pocket.  "  Much 
obliged.  How  goes  it  ?  " 

"  Tollable,  tollable,"  said  the  astounded  farmer, 
looking  hard  at  Pill  as  he  flung  a  handful  of  tobacco 
into  his  mouth. 


Elder  Pill,  Preacher  31 

"  Yes,  I'm  the  new  minister  sent  around  here  to  keep 
you  fellows  in  the  traces  and  out  of  hell-fire.  Have 
y'  fled  from  the  wrath  ? "  he  asked,  in  a  perfunctory 
way. 

"  You  are,  eh  ?  "  said  Bacon,  referring  back  to  his 
profession. 

"  I  am,  just !  How  do  you  like  that  style  of  barb 
fence  ?  Ain't  the  twisted  wire  better  ?  " 

"  I  s'pose  they  be,  but  they  cost  more." 

"  Yes,  costs  more  to  go  to  heaven  than  to  hell.  You'll 
think  so  after  I  board  with  you  a  week.  Narrow  the 
road  that  leads  to  light,  and  broad  the  way  that  leads  — 
how's  your  soul  anyway,  brother  ?  " 

"  Soul's  all  right.  I  find  more  trouble  to  keep  m' 
body  go'n'." 

"  Give  us  your  hand ;  so  do  I.  All  the  same  we 
must  prepare  for  the  next  world.  We're  gettin'  old  ; 
lay  not  up  your  treasures  where  moth  and  rust  corrupt 
and  thieves  break  through  and  steal." 

Bacon  was  thoroughly  interested  in  the  preacher,  and 
was  studying  him  carefully.  He  was  tall,  straight,  and 
superbly  proportioned;  broad-shouldered,  wide-lunged, 
and  thewed  like  a  Chippewa.  His  rather  small  steel- 
blue  eyes  twinkled,  and  his  shrewd  face  and  small  head, 
set  well  back,  completed  a  remarkable  figure.  He  wore 
his  reddish  beard  in  the  usual  way  of  Western  clergy 
men,  with  mustache  chopped  close. 

Bacon  spoke  slowly  :  — 

"  You  look  like  a  good,  husky  man  to  pitch  in  the 
barn-yard ;  you've  too  much  muscle  f 'r  preachun'." 


32  Prairie  Folks 

"  Come  and  hear  me  next  Sunday,  and  if  you  say  so 
then,  I'll  quit,"  replied  Mr.  Pill,  quietly.  "  I  give  ye 
my  word  for  it.  I  believe  in  preachers  havin'  a  little 
of  the  flesh  and  the  devil ;  they  can  sympathize  better 
with  the  rest  of  ye."  The  sarcasm  was  lost  on  Bacon, 
who  continued  to  look  at  him.  Suddenly  he  said,  as  if 
with  an  involuntary  determination  :  — 

u  Where  ye  go'n'  to  stay  t'night  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  ;  do  you  ?  "  was  the  quick  reply. 

u  I  reckon  ye  can  hang  out  with  me,  'f  ye  feel  like 
ut.  We  ain't  very  purty,  at  our  house,  but  we 
eat.  You  go  along  down  the  road  and  tell  'em  I  sent 
yeh.  Ye'll  find  an'  ol'  dusty  Bible  round  some'rs  —  I 
s'pose  ye  spend  y'r  spare  time  read'n'  about  Joshua  an' 
Dan'l  —  " 

"I  spend  more  time  reading  men.  Well,  I'm  off! 
I'm  hungrier  'n  a  gray  wolf  in  a  bear-trap."  And  off  he 
went  as  he  came.  But  he  did  not  whistle  ;  he  chewed. 

Bacon  felt  as  if  he  had  made  too  much  of  a  conces 
sion,  and  had  a  strong  inclination  to  shout  after  him, 
and  retract  his  invitation  ;  but  he  did  not,  only  worked 
on,  with  an  occasional  bear-like  grin.  There  was  some 
thing  captivating  in  this  fellow's  free  and  easy  way. 

When  he  came  up  to  the  house  an  hour  or  two  later, 
in  singular  good  humor  for  him,  he  found  the  Elder  in 
the  creamery,  with  his  niece  Eldora,  who  was  not 
more  won  by  him  than  was  his  sister  Jane  Buttles,  he 
was  so  genial  and  put  on  so  few  religious  frills. 

Mrs.  Buttles  never  put  on  frills  of  any  kind.  She  was 
a  most  frightful  toiler,  only  excelled  (if  excelled  at  all) 


Elder  Pill,  Preacher  33 

by  her  brother.  Unlovely  at  her  best,  when  about  her 
work  in  her  faded  calico  gown  and  flat  shoes,  hair 
wisped  into  a  slovenly  knot,  she  was  depressing.  But 
she  was  a  good  woman,  of  sterling  integrity,  and  ambi 
tious  for  her  girl.  She  was  very  glad  of  the  chance  to 
take  charge  of  her  brother's  household  after  Marietta 
married. 

Eldora  was  as  attractive  as  her  mother  was  depress 
ing.  She  was  very  young  at  this  time  and  had  the  phys 
ical  perfection  —  at  least  as  regards  body  —  that  her 
parents  must  have  had  in  youth.  She  was  above  the 
average  height  of  woman,  with  strong  swell  of  bosom 
and  glorious,  erect  carnage  of  head.  Her  features  were 
coarse,  but  regular  and  pleasing,  and  her  manner  boyish. 

Elder  Pill  was  on  the  best  terms  with  them  as  he 
watched  the  milk  being  skimmed  out  of  the  "  submerged 
cans  "  ready  for  the  "  caaves  and  hawgs,"  as  Mrs.  Buttles 
called  them. 

"  Uncle  told  you  t'  come  here  'nd  stay  t'  supper,  did 
he  ?  What's  come  over  him  ?  "  said  the  girl,  with  a 
sort  of  audacious  humor. 

"  Bill  has  an  awful  grutch  agin  preachers,"  said  Mrs. 
Buttles,  as  she  wiped  her  hands  on  her  apron.  "  I 
declare,  I  don't  see  how  —  " 

"  Some  preachers,  not  all  preachers,"  laughed  Pill,  in 
his  mellow  nasal.  "  There  are  preachers,  and  then  again 
preachers.  I'm  one  o'  the  t'other  kind." 

"  I  sh'd  think  y'  was,"  laughed  the  girl. 

"  Now,  Eldory,  you  run  right  t'  the  pig-pen  with  that 
milk,  whilst  I  go  in  an'  set  the  tea  on." 
D 


34  Prairie  Folks 

Mr.  Pill  seized  the  can  of  milk,  saying,  with  a  twang  : 
"  Show  me  the  way  that  I  may  walk  therein,"  and, 
accompanied  by  the  laughing  girl,  made  rapid  way  to 
the  pig-pen  just  as  the  old  man  set  up  a  ferocious  shout 
to  call  the  hired  hand  out  of  the  corn-field. 

"  How'd  y'  come  to  send  him  here  ?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Buttles,  nodding  toward  Pill. 

"  Damfino  !  I  kind  o'  liked  him  —  no  nonsense  about 
him,"  answered  Bacon,  going  into  temporary  eclipse 
behind  his  hands  as  he  washed  his  face  at  the  cistern. 

At  the  supper  table  Pill  was  "  easy  as  an  old  shoe  " ; 
ate  with  his  knife,  talked  about  fatting  hogs,  suggested  a 
few  points  on  raising  clover,  told  of  pioneer  experiences 
in  Michigan,  and  soon  won  them  —  hired  man  and  all 
—  to  a  most  favorable  opinion  of  himself.  But  he  did 
not  trench  on  religious  matters  at  all. 

The  hired  man  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  and  smelling 
frightfully  of  tobacco  and  sweat  (as  did  Bacon),  sat  with 
open  mouth,  at  times  forgetting  to  eat,  in  his  absorbing 
interest  in  the  minister's  yarns. 

"Yes,  Pve  got  a  family,  too  much  of  a  family,  in 
fact  —  that  is,  I  think  so  sometimes  when  Pm  pinched. 
Our  Western  people  are  so  indigent  —  in  plain  terms, 
poor  —  they  can't  do  any  better  than  they  do.  But  we 
pull  through  —  we  pull  through  !  John,  you  look  like 
a  stout  fellow,  but  I'll  bet  a  hat  I  can  down  you  three 
out  of  five." 

"  I  bet  you  can't,"  grinned  the  hired  man.  It  was 
the  climax  of  all,  that  bet. 

"  I'll  take  y'  in  hand  an*  flop  y'  both,"  roared  Bacon 


Elder  Pill,  Preacher  35 

from  his  lion-like  throat,  his  eyes  glistening  with  rare 
good-nature  from  the  shadow  of  his  gray  brows.  But 
he  admired  the  minister's  broad  shoulders  at  the  same 
time.  If  this  fellow  panned  out  as  he  promised,  he  was 
a  rare  specimen. 

After  supper  the  Elder  played  a  masterly  game  of 
croquet  with  Eldora,  beating  her  with  ease;  then  he 
wandered  out  to  the  barn  and  talked  horses  with  the 
hired  man,  and  finished  by  stripping  off  his  coat  and 
putting  on  one  of  Mrs.  Buttles's  aprons  to  help  milk 
the  cows. 

But  at  breakfast  the  next  morning,  when  the  family 
were  about  pitching  into  their  food  as  usual  without 
ceremony,  the  visitor  spoke  in  an  imperious  tone  and 
with  lifted  hand.  "  Wait!  Let  us  look  to  the  Lord 
for  His  blessing." 

They  waited  till  the  grace  was  said,  but  it  threw  a 
depressing  atmosphere  over  the  group ;  evidently  they 
considered  the  trouble  begun.  At  the  end  of  the  meal 
the  minister  asked  :  — 

u  Have  you  a  Bible  in  the  house  ? " 

"  I  reckon  there's  one  around  somewhere.  Elly, 
go  'n  see  'f  y'  can't  raise  one,"  said  Mrs.  Buttles, 
indifferently. 

"  Have  you  any  objection  to  family  devotion  ? " 
asked  Pill,  as  the  book  was  placed  in  his  hands  by  the 
girl. 

"No;  have  all  you  want,"  said  Bacon,  as  he  rose 
from  the  table  and  passed  out  the  door. 

"I  guess  I'll  see  the  thing  through,"  said  the  hand. 


36  Prairie  Folks 

"  It  ain't  just  square  to  leave  the  women  folks  to  bear 
the  brunt  of  it." 

It  was  shortly  after  breakfast  that  the  Elder  concluded 
he'd  walk  up  to  Brother  Jennings's  and  see  about  church 
matters. 

"  I  shall  expect  you,  Brother  Bacon,  to  be  at  the  ser 
vice  at  2.30." 

"All  right,  go  ahead  expectun',"  responded  Bacon, 
with  an  inscrutable  sidewise  glance. 

"  You  promised,  you  remember  ?  " 

"The  —  devil  —  I  did  !  "  the  old  man  snarled. 

The  Elder  looked  back  with  a  smile,  and  went  off 
whistling  in  the  warm,  bright  morning. 

II 

THE  schoolhouse  down  on  the  creek  was  known  as 
"  Hell's  Corners "  all  through  the  county,  because  of 
the  frequent  rows  that  took  place  therein  at  u  corkuses  " 
and  the  like,  and  also  because  of  the  number  of  teachers 
that  had  been  "  ousted  "  by  the  boys.  In  fact,  it  was 
one  of  those  places  still  to  be  found  occasionally  in  the 
West,  far  from  railroads  and  schools,  where  the  primi 
tive  ignorance  and  ferocity  of  men  still  prowl,  like  the 
panthers  which  are  also  found  sometimes  in  the  deeps 
of  the  Iowa  timber  lands. 

The  most  of  this  ignorance  and  ferocity,  however, 
was  centred  in  the  family  of  Dixons,  a  dark-skinned, 
unsavory  group  of  Missourians.  It  consisted  of  old 
man  Dixon  and  wife,  and  six  sons,  all  man-grown, 


Elder  Pill,  Preacher  37 

great,  gaunt,  sinewy  fellows,  with  no  education,  but 
superstitious  as  savages.  If  anything  went  wrong  in 
"  Hell's  Corners'7  everybody  knew  that  the  Dixons  were 
"  on  the  rampage  again."  The  school-teachers  were 
warned  against  the  Dixons,  and  the  preachers  were  be 
sought  to  convert  the  Dixons. 

In  fact,  John  Jennings,  as  he  drove  Pill  to  the  school- 
house  next  day,  said  :  — 

"  If  you  can  convert  the  Dixon  boys,  Elder,  I'll  give 
you  the  best  horse  in  my  barn." 

"  I  work  not  for  such  hire,"  said  Mr.  Pill,  with  a  look 
of  deep  solemnity  on  his  face,  belied,  indeed,  by  a 
twinkle  in  his  small,  keen  eye  —  a  twinkle  which  made 
Milton  Jennings  laugh  candidly. 

There  was  considerable  curiosity,  expressed  by  a  mur 
mur  of  lips  and  voices,  as  the  minister's  tall  figure 
entered  the  door  and  stood  for  a  moment  in  a  study 
of  the  scene  before  him.  It  was  a  characteristically 
Western  scene.  The  women  sat  on  one  side  of  the 
schoolroom,  the  men  on  the  other;  the  front  seats 
were  occupied  by  squirming  boys  and  girls  in  their 
Sunday  splendor. 

On  the  back,  to  the  right,  were  the  young  men,  in 
their  best  vests,  with  paper  collars  and  butterfly  neck 
ties,  with  their  coats  unbuttoned,  their  hair  plastered 
down  in  a  fascinating  wave  on  their  brown  foreheads. 
Not  a  few  were  in  their  shirt-sleeves.  The  older  men 
sat  immediately  between  the  youths  and  boys,  talking  in 
hoarse  whispers  across  the  aisles  about  the  state  of  the 
crops  and  the  county  ticket,  while  the  women  in  muc7/ 


38  Prairie  Folks 

the  same  way  conversed  about  the  children  and  raising 
onions  and  strawberries.  It  was  their  main  recreation, 
this  Sunday  meeting. 

"  Brethren ! "  rang  out  the  imperious  voice  of  the 
minister,  "  let  us  pray." 

The  audience  thoroughly  enjoyed  the  Elder's  prayer. 
He  was  certainly  gifted  in  that  direction,  and'  his  peti 
tion  grew  genuinely  eloquent  as  his  desires  embraced 
the  "ends  of  the  earth  and  the  utterm'st  parts  of  the 
seas  thereof."  But  in  the  midst  of  it  a  clatter  was 
heard,  and  five  or  six  strapping  fellows  filed  in  with 
loud  thumpings  of  their  brogans. 

Shortly  after  they  had  settled  themselves  with  elabo 
rate  impudence  on  the  back  seat,  the  singing  began. 
Just  as  they  were  singing  the  last  verse,  every  indi 
vidual  voice  wavered  and  all  but  died  out  in  astonish 
ment  to  see  William  Bacon  come  in  —  an  unheard-of 
thing  !  And  with  a  clean  shirt,  too  !  Bacon,  to  tell 
the  truth,  was  feeling  as  much  out  of  place  as  a  cat 
in  a  bath-tub,  and  looked  uncomfortable,  even  shame 
faced,  as  he  sidled  in,  his  shapeless  hat  gripped  ner 
vously  in  both  hands;  coatless  and  collarless,  his  shirt 
open  at  his  massive  throat.  The  girls  tittered,  of 
course,  and  the  boys  hammered  each  other's  ribs,  moved 
by  the  unusual  sight.  Milton  Jennings,  sitting  beside 
Bettie  Moss,  said  :  — 

"Well!  may  I  jump  straight  up  and  never  come 
down  !  " 

And  Shep  Watson  said  :  "  May  I  never  see  the  back 
o'  my  neck ! "  Which  pleased  Bettie  so  much  that 


Elder  Pill,  Preacher  39 

she  grew  quite  purple  with  efforts  to  conceal  her  laugh 
ter  ;  she  always  enjoyed  a  joke  on  her  father. 

But  all  things  have  an  end,  and  at  last  the  room  be 
came  quiet  as  Mr.  Pill  began  to  read  the  Scripture,  won 
dering  a  little  at  the  commotion.  He  suspected  that 
those  dark-skinned,  grinning  fellows  on  the  back  seat 
were  the  Dixon  boys,  and  knew  they  were  bent  on  fun. 
The  physique  of  the  minister  being  carefully  studied, 
the  boys  began  whispering  among  themselves,  and  at 
last,  just  as  the  sermon  opened,  they  began  to  push  the 
line  of  young  men  on  the  long  seat  over  toward  the 
girls*  side,  squeezing  Milton  against  Bettie.  This 
pleasantry  encouraged  one  of  them  to  whack  his  neigh 
bor  over  the  head  with  his  soft  hat,  causing  great  laugh 
ter  and  disturbance.  The  preacher  stopped.  His  cool, 
penetrating  voice  sounded  strangely  unclerical  as  he 
said  :  — 

"  There  are  some  fellows  here  to-day  to  have  fun 
with  me.  If  they  don't  keep  quiet,  they'll  have  more 
fun  than  they  can  hold."  (At  this  point  a  green  crab- 
apple  bounded  up  the  aisle.)  "  I'm  not  to  be  bulldozed." 

He  pulled  off  his  coat  and  laid  it  on  the  table  before 
him,  and,  amid  a  wondering  silence,  took  off  his  cuffs 
and  collar,  saying  :  — 

"  I  can  preach  the  word  of  the  Lord  just  as  well  with 
out  my  coat,  and  I  can  throw  rowdies  out  the  door  a 
little  better  in  my  shirt-sleeves." 

Had  the  Dixon  boys  been  a  little  shrewder  as  readers 
of  human  character,  or  if  they  had  known  why  old  Will 
iam  Bacon  was  there,  they  would  have  kept  quiet ;  but 


40  Prairie  Folks 

it  was  not  long  before  they  began  to  push  again,  and  at 
last  one  of  them  gave  a  squeak,  and  a  tussle  took  place. 
The  preacher  was  in  the  midst  of  a  sentence  :  — 

"  An  evil  deed,  brethren,  is  like  unto  a  grain  of  mus 
tard  seed.  It  is  small,  but  it  grows  steadily,  absorbing 
its  like  from  the  earth  and  air,  sending  out  roots  and 
branches,  till  at  last — " 

There  was  a  scuffle  and  a  snicker.  Mr.  Pill  paused, 
and  gazed  intently  at  Tom  Dixon,  who  was  the  most 
impudent  and  strongest  of  the  gang ;  then  he  moved 
slowly  down  on  the  astonished  young  savage.  As  he 
came  his  eyes  seemed  to  expand  like  those  of  an  eagle 
in  battle,  steady,  remorseless,  unwavering,  at  the  same 
time  that  his  brows  shut  down  over  them  —  a  glance  that 
hushed  every  breath.  The  awed  and  astonished  ruffians 
sat  as  if  paralyzed  by  the  unuttered  yet  terribly  ferocious 
determination  of  the  preacher's  eyes.  His  right  hand 
was  raised,  the  other  was  clenched  at  his  waist.  There 
was  a  sort  of  solemnity  in  his  approach,  like  a  tiger  creep 
ing  upon  a  foe. 

At  last,  after  what  seemed  minutes  to  the  silent, 
motionless  congregation,  his  raised  hand  came  down 
on  the  shoulder  of  the  leader  with  the  exact,  resistless 
precision  of  the  tiger's  paw,  and  the  ruffian  was  snatched 
from  his  seat  to  the  floor  sprawling.  Before  he  could 
rise,  the  steel-like  grip  of  the  roused  preacher  sent  him 
halfway  to  the  door,  and  then  out  into  the  dirt  of  the 
road. 

Turning,  Pill  strode  down  the  aisle  once  more. 
The  half-risen  congregation  made  way  for  him,  curiously. 


Elder  Pill,  Preacher  41 

When  he  came  within  reach  of  Dick,  the  fellow  struck 
savagely  out  at  the  preacher,  only  to  have  his  blow 
avoided  by  a  lithe,  lightning-swift  movement  of  the 
body  above  the  hips  (a  trained  boxer's  trick),  and  to 
find  himself  lying  bruised  and  dazed  on  the  floor. 

By  this  time  the  other  brothers  had  recovered  from 
their  stupor,  and,  with  wild  curses,  leaped  over  the 
benches  toward  the  fearless  preacher. 

But  now  a  new  voice  was  heard  in  the  sudden  uproar 

—  a  new  but  familiar  voice.     It  was  the  mighty  voice 
of  William    Bacon,  known   far   and  wide  as  a  terrible 
antagonist,  a  man  who  had  never  been  whipped.      He 
was  like  a  wild  beast  excited  to  primitive  savagery  by 
the  smell  of  blood. 

tc  Stand  back,  you  hell-hounds  !  "  he  said,  leaping  be 
tween  them  and  the  preacher.  "  You  know  me.  Lay 
another  hand  on  that  man  an',  by  the  livun'  God,  you 
answer  t'  me.  Back  thear  !  " 

Some  of  the  men  cheered,  most  stood  irresolute.  The 
women  crowded  together,  the  children  began  to  scream 
with  terror,  while  through  it  all  Pill  dragged  his  last 
assailant  toward  the  door. 

Bacon  made  his  way  down  to  where  the  Dixons  had 
halted,  undecided  what  to  do.  If  the  preacher  had  the 
air  and  action  of  the  tiger,  Bacon  looked  the  grisly  bear 

—  his  eyebrows  working  up  and  down,  his  hands  clenched 
into  frightful  bludgeons,  his  breath  rushing  through  his 
hairy  nostrils. 

"  Git  out  o'  hyare,"  he  growled.  u  You've  run  things 
here  jest  about  long  enough.  Git  out  !  " 


42  Prairie  Folks 

His  hands  were  now  on  the  necks  of  two  of  the  boys, 
and  he  was  hustling  them  toward  the  door. 

u  If  you  want  'o  whip  the  preacher,  meet  him  in  the 
public  road  —  one  at  a  time;  he'll  take  care  o'  himself. 
Out  with  ye,"  he  ended,  kicking  them  out.  u  Show 
your  faces  here  agin,  an'  I'll  break  ye  in  two." 

The  non-combative  farmers  now  began  to  see  the 
humor  of  the  whole  transaction,  and  began  to  laugh ; 
but  they  were  cut  short  by  the  calm  voice  of  the 
preacher  at  his  desk :  — 

"  But  a  good  deed,  brethren,  is  like  unto  a  grain  of 
wheat  planted  in  good  earth,  that  bringeth  forth  fruit  in 
due  season  an  hundred  fold." 


Ill 

MR.  PILL,  with  all  his  seeming  levity,  was  a  powerful 
hand  at  revivals,  as  was  developed  at  the  "  protracted  " 
meetings  at  the  Grove  during  December.  Indeed,  such 
was  the  pitiless  intensity  of  his  zeal  that  a  gloom  was  cast 
over  the  whole  township  ;  the  ordinary  festivities  stopped 
or  did  not  begin  at  all. 

The  lyceum,  which  usually  began  by  the  first  week 
in  December,  was  put  entirely  out  of  the  question,  as 
were  the  spelling-schools  and  "  exhibitions."  The  boys, 
it  is  true,  still  drove  the  girls  to  meeting  in  the  usual 
manner ;  but  they  all  wore  a  furtive,  uneasy  air,  and 
their  laughter  was  not  quite  genuine  at  its  best,  and 
died  away  altogether  when  they  came  near  the  school- 
house,  and  they  hardly  recovered  from  the  effects  of  the 


Elder  Pill,  Preacher  43 

preaching  till  a  mile  or  two  had  been  spun  behind  the 
shining  runners.  It  took  all  the  magic  of  the  jingle 
of  the  bells  and  the  musical  creak  of  the  polished 
steel  on  the  snow  to  win  them  back  to  laughter. 

As  for  Elder  Pill,  he  was  as  a  man  transformed.  He 
grew  more  intense  each  night,  and  strode  back  and  forth 
behind  his  desk  and  pounded  the  Bible  like  an  assassin. 
No  more  games  with  the  boys,  no  more  poking  the  girls 
under  the  chin  !  When  he  asked  for  a  chew  of  tobacco 
now  it  was  with  an  air  which  said :  "  I  ask  it  as  sus 
tenance  that  will  give  me  strength  for  the  Lord's  ser 
vice,"  as  if  the  demands  of  the  flesh  had  weakened  the 
spirit. 

Old  man  Bacon  overtook  Milton  Jennings  early  one 
Monday  morning,  as  Milton  was  marching  down  toward 
the  Seminary  at  Rock  River.  It  was  intensely  cold  and 
still,  so  cold  and  still  that  the  ring  of  the  cold  steel  of 
the  heavy  sleigh,  the  snort  of  the  horses,  and  the  old 
man's  voice  came  with  astonishing  distinctness  to  the 
ears  of  the  hurrying  youth,  and  it  seemed  a  very  long 
time  before  the  old  man  came  up. 

"  Climb  on  !  "  he  yelled,  out  of  his  frosty  beard.  He 
was  seated  on  the  "  hind  bob  "  of  a  wood-sleigh,  on  a 
couple  of  blankets.  Milton  clambered  on,  knowing 
well  he'd  freeze  to  death  there. 

"  Reckon  I  heerd  you  prowlun'  around  the  front  door 
with  my  girl  last  night,"  Bacon  said  at  length.  "  The 
way  you  both  'tend  out  t'  meetun'  ought  'o  sanctify 
yeh ;  must  'a'  stayed  to  the  after-meetun',  didn't  yen  ? " 

"  Nope.     The  front  part  was  enough  for  —  " 


44  Prairie  Folks 

u  Danged  if  I  was  any  more  fooled  with  a  man  in  m' 
life.  I  b'lieve  the  whole  thing  is  a  little  scheme  on  the 
bretheren  t'  raise  a  dollar." 

"  Why  so  ?  " 

"  Waal,  y'  see,  Pill  ain't  got  much  out  o'  the  app'int- 
ment  thus  fur,  and  he  ain't  likely  to,  if  he  don't  shake 
'em  up  a  leetle.  Borrud  ten  dollars  o'  me  t'other  day." 

Well,  thought  Milton,  whatever  his  real  motive  is, 
Elder  Pill  is  earning  all  he  gets.  Standing  for  two  or 
three  hours  in  his  place  night  after  night,  arguing,  plead 
ing,  even  commanding  them  to  be  saved. 

Milton  was  describing  the  scenes  of  the  meeting  to 
Bradley  Talcott  and  Douglas  Radbourn  the  next  day, 
and  Radbourn,  a  young  law  student,  said  :  — 

"  I'd  like  to  see  him.      He  must  be  a  character." 

"  Let's  make  up  a  party  and  go  out,"  said  Milton, 
eagerly. 

"  All  right ;   I'll  speak  to  Lily  Graham." 

Accordingly,  that  evening  a  party  of  students,  in  a 
large  sleigh,  drove  out  toward  the  schoolhouse,  along 
the  drifted  lanes  and  through  the  beautiful  aisles  of  the 
snowy  woods.  A  merry  party  of  young  people,  who 
had  no  sense  of  sin  to  weigh  them  down.  Even  Rad 
bourn  and  Lily  joined  in  the  songs  which  they  sang  to 
the  swift  clanging  of  the  bells,  until  the  lights  of  the 
schoolhouse  burned  redly  through  the  frosty  air. 

Not  a  few  of  the  older  people  present  felt  scandalized 
by  the  singing  and  by  the  dancing  of  the  "  town  girls," 
who  could  not  for  the  life  of  them  take  the  thing  seri 
ously.  The  room  was  so  little,  and  hot,  and  smoky. 


Elder  Pill,  Preacher  45 

and  the  men  looked  so  queer  in  their  rough  coats  and 
hair  every-which-way. 

But  they  took  their  seats  demurely  on  the  back  seat, 
and  joined  in  the  opening  songs,  and  listened  to  the  halt 
ing  prayers  of  the  brethren  and  the  sonorous  prayers  of 
the  Elder,  with  commendable  gravity.  Miss  Graham 
was  a  devout  Congregationalist,  and  hushed  the  others 
into  gravity  when  their  eyes  began  to  dance  dangerously. 

However,  as  Mr.  Pill  warmed  to  his  work,  the  girls 
grew  sober  enough.  He  awed  them,  and  frightened 
them  with  the  savagery  of  his  voice  and  manner.  His 
small  gray  eyes  were  like  daggers  unsheathed,  and  his 
small,  round  head  took  on  a  cat-like  ferocity,  as  he 
strode  to  and  fro,  hurling  out  his  warnings  and  com 
mands  in  a  hoarse  howl  that  terrified  the  sinner,  and 
drew  u  amens  "  of  admiration  from  the  saints. 

"  Atavism ;  he  has  gone  back  to  the  era  of  the  medi 
cine  man,"  Radbourn  murmured. 

As  the  speaker  went  on,  foam  came  upon  his  thin 
lips ;  his  lifted  hand  had  prophecy  and  threatening  in  it. 
His  eyes  reflected  flames ;  his  voice  had  now  the  tone 
of  the  implacable,  vindictive  judge.  He  gloated  on  the 
pictures  that  his  words  called  up.  By  the  power  of  his 
imagination  the  walls  widened,  the  floor  was  no  longer 
felt,  the  crowded  room  grew  still  as  death,  every  eye 
fixed  on  the  speaker's  face. 

"  I  tell  you,  you  must  repent  or  die.  I  can  see  the 
great  judgment  angel  now  !  "  he  said,  stopping  suddenly 
and  pointing  above  the  stovepipe.  u  I  can  see  him  as 
he  stands  weighing  your  souls  as  a  man  'ud  weigh  wheat 


46  Prairie  Folks 

and  chaff.  Wheat  goes  into  the  Father's  garner ;  chaff 
is  blown  to  hell's  devouring  flame  !  I  can  see  him  now  ! 
He  seizes  a  poor,  damned,  struggling  soul  by  the  neck, 
he  holds  him  over  the  flaming  forge  of  hell  till  his  bones 
melt  like  wax ;  he  shrivels  like  thread  in  the  flame  of 
a  candle ;  he  is  nothing  but  a  charred  husk,  and  the 
angel  flings  him  back  into  outer  darkness ;  life  was  not  in 
him." 

It  was  this  astonishing  figure,  powerfully  acted,  that 
scared  poor  Tom  Dixon  into  crying  out  for  mercy. 
The  effect  upon  others  was  painful.  To  see  so  great  a 
sinner  fall  terror-stricken  seemed  like  a  providential 
stroke  of  confirmatory  evidence,  and  nearly  a  dozen 
other  young  people  fell  crying,  whereat  the  old  people 
burst  out  into  amens  of  spasmodic  fervor,  while  the 
preacher,  the  wild  light  still  in  his  eyes,  tore  up  and 
down,  crying  above  the  tumult :  — 

"  The  Lord  is  come  with  power  !  His  hand  is  visible 
here.  Shout  aloud  and  spare  not.  Fall  before  him  as 
dust  to  his  feet !  Hypocrites,  vipers,  scoffers  !  the  lash 
o'  the  Lord  is  on  ye  !  " 

In  the  intense  pause  which  followed  as  he  waited 
with  expectant,  uplifted  face  —  a  pause  so  deep  even 
the  sobbing  sinners  held  their  breath  —  a  dry,  drawl 
ing,  utterly  matter-of-fact  voice  broke  the  intense 
hush. 

"  S-a-y,  Pill,  ain't  you  a-bearun'  down  on  the  boys  a 
leetle  too  hard  ?  " 

The  preacher's  extended  arm  fell  as  if  life  had  gone 
out  of  it.  His  face  flushed  and  paled ;  the  people 


Elder  Pill,  Preacher  47 

laughed  hysterically,  some  of  them  with  the  tears  of  ter 
ror  still  on  their  cheeks  ;  but  Radbourn  said,  "  Bravo, 
Bacon  !  " 

Pill  recovered  himself. 

"Not  hard  enough  for  you,  neighbor  Bacon." 

Bacon  rose,  retaining  the  same  dry,  prosaic  tone :  — 

"  I  ain't  bitin'  that  kind  of  a  hook,  an'  I  ain't  goin' 
to  be  yanked  into  heaven  when  I  c'n  slide  into  hell. 
Waal !  I  must  be  goin' ;  I've  got  a  new-milk's  cow  that 
needs  tendin'  to." 

The  effect  of  all  this  was  very  great.  From  being 
at  the  very  mouth  of  the  furnace,  quivering  with  fear 
and  captive  to  morbid  imaginings,  Bacon's  dry  intona 
tion  brought  them  all  back  to  earth  again.  They  per 
ceived  something  of  the  absurdity  of  the  whole  situation. 

Pill  was  beaten  for  the  first  time  in  his  life.  He  had 
been  struck  below  the  belt  by  a  good-natured  giant. 
The  best  he  could  do,  as  Bacon  shuffled  calmly  out,  was 
to  stammer :  "  Will  some  one  please  sing  ? "  And 
while  they  sang,  he  stood  in  deep  thought.  Just  as  the 
last  verse  was  quivering  into  silence,  the  full,  deep  tones 
of  Radbourn's  voice  rose  above  the  bustle  of  feet  and 
clatter  of  seats  :  — 

"  And  all  that  he  preaches  in  the  name  of  Him  who 
came  bringing  peace  and  good-will  to  men." 

Radbourn's  tone  had  in  it  reproach  and  a  noble  sug 
gestion.  The  people  looked  at  him  curiously.  The 
deacons  nodded  their  heads  together  in  counsel,  and 
when  they  turned  to  the  desk  Pill  was  gone  ! 

u  Gee  whittaker  !     That  was  tough,"  said  Milton  to 


48  Prairie  Folks 

Radbourn  ;  a  knocked  the  wind  out  o'  him  like  a  can 
non-ball.  What'll  he  do  now  ?  " 

"  He  can't  do  anything  but  acknowledge  his  foolish 
ness." 

"You  no  business  t'  come  here  an'  'sturb  the 
Lord's  meetin',"  cried  old  Daddy  Brown  to  Radbourn. 
"  You're  a  sinner  and  a  scoffer." 

"I  thought  Bacon  was  the  disturbing  ele  — " 

"You're  just  as  bad!" 

"  He's  all  right"  said  William  Councill.  "  I've  got 
sick,  m'self,  of  bein'  scared  into  religion.  I  never  was 
so  fooled  in  a  man  in  my  life.  If  I'd  tell  you  what 
Pill  said  to  me  the  other  day,  when  we  was  in  Robie's 
store,  you'd  fall  in  a  fit.  An'  to  hear  him  talkin'  here 
t'night,  is  enough  to  make  a  horse  laugh." 

"  You're  all  in  league  with  the  devil,"  said  the  old 
man,  wildly ;  and  so  the  battle  raged  on. 

Milton  and  Radbourn  escaped  from  it,  and  got  out 
into  the  clear,  cold,  untainted  night. 

"  The  heat  of  the  furnace  doesn't  reach  as  far  as  the 
horses,"  Radbourn  moralized,  as  he  aided  in  unhitching 
the  shivering  team.  "In  the  vast,  calm  spaces  of  the 
stars,  among  the  animals,  such  scenes  as  we  have  just 
seen  are  impossible."  He  lifted  his  hand  in  a  lofty 
gesture.  The  light  fell  on  his  pale  face  and  dark  eyes. 
The  girls  were  a  little  indignant  and  disposed  to  take 
the  preacher's  part.  They  thought  Bacon  had  no  right 
to  speak  out  that  way,  and  Miss  Graham  uttered  her 
protest,  as  they  whirled  away  on  the  homeward  ride 
with  pleasant  jangle  of  bells. 


Elder  Pill,  Preacher  49 

"  But  the  secret  of  it  all  was,"  said  Radbourn  in 
answer,  u  Pill  knew  he  was  acting  a  part.  I  don't 
mean  that  he  meant  to  deceive,  but  he  got  excited,  and 
his  audience  responded  as  an  audience  does  to  an  actor 
of  the  first  class,  and  he  was  for  the  time  in  earnest ; 
his  imagination  did  see  those  horrors,  —  he  was  swept 
away  by  his  own  words.  But  when  Bacon  spoke,  his 
dry  tone  and  homely  words  brought  everybody,  preacher 
and  all,  back  to  the  earth  with  a  thump  !  Everybody 
saw,  that  after  weeping  and  wailing  there  for  an  hour, 
they'd  go  home,  feed  the  calves,  hang  up  the  lantern, 
put  out  the  cat,  wind  the  clock,  and  go  to  bed.  In 
other  words,  they  all  came  back  out  of  their  barbaric 
powwow  to  their  natural  modern  selves." 

This  explanation  had  palpable  truth,  but  Lily  per 
ceived  that  it  had  wider  application  than  to  the  meeting 
they  had  just  left. 

u  They'll  be  music  around  this  clearing  to-morrow," 
said  Milton,  with  a  sigh;  "wish  I  was  at  home  this 
week." 

"  But  what'll  become  of  Mr.  Pill  ? " 

"  Oh,  he'll  come  out  all  right,"  Radbourn  assured 
her,  and  Milton's  clear  tenor  rang  out  as  he  drew  Eileen 
closer  to  his  side  :  — 

"O  silver  moon,  O  silver  moon, 
You  set,  you  set  too  soon  — 
The  morrow  day  is  far  away, 
The  night  is  but  begun." 


50  Prairie  Folks 


IV 

THE  news,  grotesquely  exaggerated,  flew  about  the 
next  day,  and  at  night,  though  it  was  very  cold  and 
windy,  the  house  was  jammed  to  suffocation.  On 
these  lonely  prairies  life  is  so  devoid  of  anything 
but  work,  dramatic  entertainments  are  so  few,  and 
appetite  so  keen,  that  a  temperature  of  twenty  de 
grees  below  zero  is  no  bar  to  a  trip  of  ten  miles. 
The  protracted  meeting  was  the  only  recreation  for 
many  of  them.  The  gossip  before  and  after  service 
was  a  delight  not  to  be  lost,  and  this  last  sensation 
was  dramatic  enough  to  bring  out  old  men  and  women 
who  had  not  dared  to  go  to  church  in  winter  for  ten 
years. 

Long  before  seven  o'clock,  the  schoolhouse  blazed 
with  light  and  buzzed  with  curious  speech.  Team 
after  team  drove  up  to  the  door,  and  as  the  drivers 
leaped  out  to  receive  the  women,  they  said  in  low  but 
eager  tones  to  the  bystanders  :  — 

"  Meeting  begun  yet  ?  " 

"  Nope  !  " 

"  What  kind  of  a  time  y'  havin'  over  here,  any 
way  ?  " 

u  A  mighty  solumn  time,"  somebody  would  reply  with 
a  low  laugh. 

By  seven  o'clock  every  inch  of  space  was  occupied; 
the  air  was  frightful.  The  kerosene  lamps  gave  off  gas 
and  smoke,  the  huge  stove  roared  itself  into  an  angry 


Elder  Pill,  Preacher  51 

red  on  its  jack-oak  grubs,  and  still  people  crowded  in  at 
the  door. 

Discussion  waxed  hot  as  the  stove;  two  or  three 
Universalists  boldly  attacked  everybody  who  came  their 
way.  A  tall  man  stood  on  a  bench  in  the  corner,  and, 
thumping  his  Bible  wildly  with  his  fist,  exclaimed,  at 
the  top  of  his  voice :  — 

"  There  is  no  hell  at  all !  The  Bible  says  the  wicked 
perish  utterly.  They  are  consumed  as  ashes  when  they 
die.  They  perish  as  dogs  !  " 

u  What  kind  o'  docterin'  is  that  ? "  asked  a  short 
man  of  Councill. 

"I  d'know.  It's  olj  Sam  Richards.  Calls  himself 
a  Christian  —  Christadelphian  'r  some  new-fangled 
name." 

At  last  people  began  to  inquire,  "Well,  ain't  he 
comin'  ?  " 

"  Most  time  Pr  the  Elder  to  come,  ain't  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  guess  he's  preparin'  a  sermon." 

John  Jennings  pushed  anxiously  to  Daddy  Brown. 

"  Ain't  the  Elder  comin'  ?  " 

"  I  d'know.     He  didn't  stay  at  my  house." 

"  He  didn't  ?  " 

u  No.     Thought  he  went  home  with  you." 

u  I  ain't  see  'im  't  all.  I'll  ask  Councill.  Brother 
Councill,  seen  anything  of  the  Elder  ?  " 

"  No.     Didn't  he  go  home  with.Bensen  ?  " 

«  I  d'n  know.     I'll  see." 

This  was  enough  to  start  the  news  that  "  Pill  had 
skipped." 


52  Prairie  Folks 

This  the  deacons  denied,  saying  u  he'd  come  or  send 
word." 

Outside,  on  the  leeward  side  of  the  house,  the  young 
men  who  couldn't  get  in  stood  restlessly,  now  dancing 
a  jig,  now  kicking  their  huge  boots  against  the  under 
pinning  to  warm  their  toes.  They  talked  spasmodically 
as  they  swung  their  arms  about  their  chests,  speaking 
from  behind  their  huge  buffalo-coat  collars. 

The  wind  roared  through  the  creaking  oaks ;  the 
horses  stirred  complainingly,  the  bells  on  their  backs 
crying  out  querulously ;  the  heads  of  the  fortunates  in 
side  were  shadowed  outside  on  the  snow,  and  the  rest 
less  young  men  amused  themselves  betting  on  which 
head  was  Bensen  and  which  Councill. 

At  last  some  one  pounded  on  the  desk  inside.  The 
suffocating  but  lively  crowd  turned  with  painful  adjust 
ment  toward  the  desk,  from  whence  Deacon  Bensen's 
high,  smooth  voice  sounded  :  — 

"  Brethren  an'  sisters,  Elder  Pill  hain't  come  —  and, 
as  it's  about  eight  o'clock,  he  probably  won't  come  to 
night.  After  the  disturbances  last  night,  it's  —  a  —  a 
—  we're  all  the  more  determined  to  —  the  —  a  —  need 
of  reforming  grace  is  more  felt  than  ever.  Let  us  hope 
nothing  has  happened  to  the  Elder.  I'll  go  see  to 
morrow,  and  if  he  is  unable  to  come  —  I'll  see  Brother 
Wheat,  of  Cresco.  After  prayer  by  Brother  Jennings, 
we  will  adjourn  till  to-morrow  night.  Brother  Jen 
nings,  will  you  lead  us  in  prayer  ?  "  (Some  one  snick 
ered.)  "I  hope  the  disgraceful  —  a  —  scenes  of  last 
night  will  not  be  repeated." 


Elder  Pill,  Preacher  53 

"  Where's  Pill  ?  "  demanded  a  voice  in  the  back  part 
of  the  room.  "  That's  what  I  want  to  know." 

"  He's  a  bad  pill,"  said  another,  repeating  a  pun 
already  old. 

u  I  guess  so !  He  borrowed  twenty  dollars  o'  me 
last  week,"  said  the  first  voice. 

u  He  owes  me  for  a  pig,"  shouted  a  short  man,  ex 
citedly.  "  I  believe  he's  skipped  to  get  rid  o'  his 
debts." 

"  So  do  I.  I  allus  said  he  was  a  mighty  queer 
preacher." 

"  He'd  bear  watchin'  was  my  idee  fust  time  I  ever 
see  him." 

"  Careful,  brethren  —  careful.  He  may  come  at  any 
minute." 

"  I  don't  care  if  he  does.  I'd  bone  him  f  r  pay  Pr 
that  shote,  preacher  'r  no  preacher,"  said  Bartlett,  a 
little  nervously. 

High  words  followed  this,  and  there  was  prospect  of 
a  fight.  The  pressure  of  the  crowd,  however,  was  so 
great  it  was  well-nigh  impossible  for  two  belligerents  to 
get  at  each  other.  The  meeting  broke  up  at  last,  and 
the  people,  chilly,  soured,  and  disappointed  at  the  lack 
of  developments,  went  home  saying  Pill  was  scaly ;  no 
preacher  who  chawed  terbacker  was  to  be  trusted,  and 
when  it  was  learned  that  the  horse  and  buggy  he  drove 
he  owed  Jennings  and  Bensen  for,  everybody  said, 
"  He's  a  fraud." 


54  Prairie  Folks 


IN  the  meantime,  Andrew  Pill  was  undergoing  the 
most  singular  and  awful  mental  revolution. 

When  he  leaped  blindly  into  his  cutter  and  gave  his 
horse  the  rein,  he  was  wild  with  rage  and  shame,  and  a 
sort  of  fear.  As  he  sat  with  bent  head,  he  did  not  hear 
the  tread  of  the  horse,  and  did  not  see  the  trees  glide 
past.  The  rabbit  leaped  away  under  the  shadow  of  the 
thick  groves  of  young  oaks  ;  the  owl,  scared  from  its 
perch,  went  fluttering  off  into  the  cold,  crisp  air;  but 
he  saw  only  the  contemptuous,  quizzical  face  of  old 
William  Bacon  —  one  shaggy  eyebrow  lifted,  a  smile 
showing  through  his  shapeless  beard. 

He  saw  the  colorless,  handsome  face  of  Radbourn,  and 
his  look  of  reproach  and  note  of  suggestion  —  Radbourn, 
one  of  the  best  thinkers  in  Rock  River,  and  the  most 
generally  admired  young  man  in  Rock  County. 

When  he  saw  and  heard  Bacon,  his  hurt  pride  flamed 
up  in  wrath,  but  the  calm  voice  of  Radbourn,  and  the 
look  in  his  stern,  accusing  eyes,  made  his  head  fall  in 
thought.  As  he  rode,  things  grew  clearer.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  his  whole  system  of  religious  thought  was  like 
the  side  of  a  shelving  sand-bank  —  in  unstable  equilibrium 
—  needing  only  a  touch  to  send  it  slipping  into  a  shape 
less  pile  at  the  river's  edge.  That  touch  had  been  given, 
and  he  was  now  in  the  midst  of  the  motion  of  his  falling 
faith.  He  didn't  know  how  much  would  stand  when 
the  sloughing  ended. 


Elder  Pill,  Preacher  55 

Andrew  Pill  had  been  a  variety  of  things,  a  farmer,  a 
dry-goods  merchant,  and  a  travelling  salesman,  but  in  a 
revival  quite  like  this  of  his  own,  he  had  been  converted 
and  his  life  changed.  He  now  desired  to  help  his  fel 
low-men  to  a  better  life,  and  willingly  went  out  among 
the  farmers,  where  pay  was  small.  It  was  not  true, 
therefore,  that  he  had  gone  into  it  because  there  was 
little  work  and  good  pay.  He  was  really  an  able  man, 
and  would  have  been  a  success  in  almost  anything  he 
undertook ;  but  his  reading  and  thought,  his  easy  inter 
course  with  men  like  Bacon  and  Radbourn,  had  long 
since  undermined  any  real  faith  in  the  current  doctrine 
of  retribution,  and  to-night,  as  he  rode  into  the  night,  he 
was  feeling  it  all  and  suffering  it  all,  forced  to  acknowl 
edge  at  last  what  had  been  long  moving. 

The  horse  took  the  wrong  road,  and  plodded  along 
steadily,  carrying  him  away  from  his  home,  but  he  did 
not  know  it  for  a  long  time.  When  at  last  he  looked 
up  and  saw  the  road  leading  out  upon  the  wide  plain 
between  the  belts  of  timber,  leading  away  to  Rock 
River,  he  gave  a  sigh  of  relief  He  could  not  meet 
his  wife  then ;  he  must  have  a  chance  to  think. 

Over  him,  the  glittering,  infinite  sky  of  winter  mid 
night  soared,  passionless,  yet  accusing  in  its  calmness, 
sweetness,  and  majesty.  What  was  he  that  he  could 
dogmatize  on  eternal  life  and  the  will  of  the  Being  who 
stood  behind  that  veil  ?  And  then  would  come  rushing 
back  that  scene  in  the  schoolhouse,  the  smell  of  the 
steaming  garments,  the  gases  from  the  lamps,  the  roar 
of  the  stove,  the  sound  of  his  own  voice,  strident,  domi- 


56  Prairie  Folks 

nating,  so  alien  to  his  present  mood,  he  could  only  shudder 
at  it. 

He  was  worn  out  with  thinking  when  he  drove  into 
the  stable  at  the  Merchants'  House  and  roused  up  the 
sleeping  hostler,  who  looked  at  him  suspiciously  and 
demanded  pay  in  advance.  This  seemed  right  in  his 
present  mood.  He  was  not  to  be  trusted. 

When  he  flung  himself  face  downward  on  his  bed,  the 
turmoil  in  his  brain  was  still  going  on.  He  couldn't  hold 
one  thought  or  feeling  long ;  all  seemed  slipping  like 
water  from  his  hands. 

He  had  in  him  great  capacity  for  change,  for  growth. 
Circumstances  had  been  against  his  development  thus 
far,  but  the  time  had  come  when  growth  seemed  to  be 
defeat  and  failure. 

VI 

RADBOURN  was  thinking  about  him,  two  days  after,  as 
he  sat  in  his  friend  Judge  Brown's  law  office,  poring  over 
a  volume  of  law.  He  saw  that  Bacon's  treatment  had 
been  heroic ;  he  couldn't  get  the  pitiful  confusion  of  the 
preacher's  face  out  of  his  mind.  But,  after  all,  Bacon's 
seizing  of  just  that  instant  was  a  stroke  of  genius. 

Some  one  touched  him  on  the  arm  and  he  turned. 

"Why  —  Elder — Mr.  Pill,  how  de  do?  Sit  down. 
Draw  up  a  chair." 

There  was  trouble  in  the  preacher's  face.  "  Can  I 
see  you,  Radbourn,  alone  ?  " 

"  Certainly  ;  come  right  into  this  room.  No  one  will 
disturb  us  there." 


Elder  Pill,  Preacher  57 

"  Now,  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?  "  he  said,  as  they  sat 
down. 

"  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  —  about  religion,"  said 
Pill,  with  a  little  timid  pause  in  his  voice. 

Radbourn  looked  grave.  "  I'm  afraid  you've  come 
to  a  dangerous  man." 

"  I  want  you  to  tell  me  what  you  think.  I  know 
you're  a  student.  I  want  to  talk  about  my  case,"  pur 
sued  the  preacher,  with  a  curious  hesitancy.  "  I  want 
to  ask  a  few  questions  on  things." 

"Very  well;  sail  in.  I'll  do  the  best  I  can,"  said 
Radbourn. 

"  I've  been  thinking  a  good  deal  since  that  night. 
I've  come  to  the  conclusion  that  I  don't  believe  what 
I've  been  preaching.  I  thought  I  did,  but  I  didn't.  I 
don't  know  what  I  believe.  Seems  as  if  the  land  had 
slid  from  under  my  feet.  What  am  I  to  do  ?  " 

u  Say  so,"  replied  Radbourn,  his  eyes  kindling.  u  Say 
so,  and  get  out  of  it.  There's  nothing  worse  than  stay 
ing  where  you  are.  What  have  you  saved  from  the 
general  land-slide  ?  " 

Pill  smiled  a  little.     "  I  don't  know." 

"  Want  me  to  cross-examine  you  and  see,  eh  ?  Very 
well,  here  goes."  He  settled  back  with  a  smile.  "  You 
believe  in  square  dealing  between  man  and  man  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  You  believe  in  good  deeds,  candor,  and  steadfastness  ? " 

« I  do." 

"  You  believe  in  justice,  equality  of  opportunity,  and 
in  liberty  ?  " 


58  Prairie  Folks 

"  Certainly  I  do." 

u  You  believe,  in  short,  that  a  man  should  do  unto 
others  as  he'd  have  others  do  unto  him ;  think  right  and 
live  out  his  thoughts  ?  " 

"  All  that  I  steadfastly  believe." 

u  Well,  I  guess  your  land-slide  was  mostly  imaginary. 
The  face  of  the  eternal  rock  is  laid  bare.  You  didn't 
recognize  it  at  first,  that's  all.  One  question  more. 
You  believe  in  getting  at  truth  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

u  Well,  truth  is  only  found  from  the  generalizations 
of  facts.  Before  calling  a  thing  true,  study  carefully  all 
accessible  facts.  Make  your  religion  practical.  The 
matter-of-fact  tone  of  Bacon  would  have  had  no  force  if 
you  had  been  preaching  an  earnest  morality  in  place  of 
an  antiquated  terrorism." 

"  I  know  it,  I  know  it,"  sighed  Pill,  looking  down. 

"  Well,  now  go  back  and  tell  'em  so.  And  then,  if 
you  can't  keep  your  place  preaching  what  you  do  believe, 
get  into  something  else.  For  the  sake  of  all  morality  and 
manhood,  don't  go  on  cursing  yourself  with  hypocrisy." 

Mr.  Pill  took  a  chew  of  tobacco  rather  distractedly, 
and  said  :  — 

"  I'd  like  to  ask  you  a  few  questions." 

"  No,  not  now.  You  think  out  your  present  position 
yourself.  Find  out  just  what  you  have  saved  from  your 
land-slide." 

The  elder  man  rose ;  he  hardly  seemed  the  same  man 
who  had  dominated  his  people  a  few  days  before.  He 
turned  with  still  greater  embarrassment. 


Elder  Pill,  Preacher  59 

"I  want  to  ask  a  favor.  I'm  going  back  to  my  fam 
ily.  I'm  going  to  say  something  of  what  you've  said, 
to  my  congregation  —  but  —  I'm  in  debt  —  and  the 
moment  they  know  I'm  a  backslider,  they're  going  to 
bear  down  on  me  pretty  heavy.  I'd  like  to  be  inde 
pendent." 

"  I  see.     How  much  do  you  need  ?  "  mused  Radbourn. 

u  I  guess  two  hundred  would  stave  off  the  worst  of 
them." 

"  I  guess  Brown  and  I  can  fix  that.  Come  in  again 
to-night.  Or  no,  I'll  bring  it  round  to  you." 

The  two  men  parted  with  a  silent  pressure  of  the 
hand  that  meant  more  than  any  words. 

When  Mr.  Pill  told  his  wife  that  he  could  preach  no 
more,  she  cried,  and  gasped,  and  scolded  till  she  was  in 
danger  of  losing  her  breath  entirely.  "A  guinea-hen 
sort  of  a  woman  "  Councill  called  her.  "  She  can  talk 
more  an'  say  less  'n  any  woman  I  ever  see,"  was 
Bacon's  verdict,  after  she  had  been  at  dinner  at  his 
house.  She  was  a  perpetual  irritant. 

Mr.  Pill  silenced  her  at  last  with  a  note  of  impatience 
approaching  a  threat,  and  drove  away  to  the  Corners 
to  make  his  confession  without  her.  It  was  Saturday 
night,  and  Elder  Wheat  was  preaching  as  he  entered  the 
crowded  room.  A  buzz  and  mumble  of  surprise  stopped 
the  orator  for  a  few  moments,  and  he  shook  hands  with 
Mr.  Pill  dubiously,  not  knowing  what  to  think  of  it  all, 
but  as  he  was  in  the  midst  of  a  very  effective  oratorical 
scene,  he  went  on. 

The  silent  man  at  his  side  felt  as  if  he  were  witness- 


60  Prairie  Folks 

ing  a  burlesque  of  himself  as  he  listened  to  the  pitiless 
and  lurid  description  of  torment  which  Elder  Wheat 
poured  forth,  —  the  same  figures  and  threats  he  had  used 
a  hundred  times.  He  stirred  uneasily  in  his  seat,  while 
the  audience  paid  so  little  attention  that  the  perspiring 
little  orator  finally  called  for  a  hymn,  saying:  — 

"  Elder  Pill  has  returned  from  his  unexpected  absence, 
and  will  exhort  in  his  proper  place." 

When  the  singing  ended,  Mr.  Pill  rose,  looking  more 
like  himself  than  since  the  previous  Sunday.  A  quiet 
resolution  was  in  his  eyes  and  voice  as  he  said  :  — 

"  Elder  Wheat  has  more  right  here  than  I  have.  I 
want  'o  say  that  I'm  going  to  give  up  my  church  in 
Douglass  and  — "  A  murmur  broke  out,  which  he 
silenced  with  his  raised  hand.  "  I  find  I  don't  believe 
any  longer  what  I've  been  believing  and  preaching. 
Hold  on  !  let  me  go  on.  I  don't  quite  know  where  I'll 
bring  up,  but  I  think  my  religion  will  simmer  down 
finally  to  about  this :  A  full  half-bushel  to  the  half- 
bushel  and  sixteen  ounces  to  the  pound."  Here  two  or 
three  cheered.  "  Do  unto  others  as  you'd  have  others 
do  unto  you."  Applause  from  several,  quickly  sup 
pressed  as  the  speaker  went  on,  Elder  Wheat  listening 
as  if  petrified,  with  his  mouth  open. 

"  I'm  going  out  of  preaching,  at  least  for  the  present. 
After  things  get  into  shape  with  me  again,  I  may  set  up 
to  teach  people  how  to  live,  but  just  now  I  can't  do  it. 
I've  got  all  I  can  do  to  instruct  myself.  Just  one  thing 
more.  I  owe  two  or  three  of  you  here.  I've  got  the 
money  for  William  Bacon,  James  Bartlett,  and  John 


Elder  Pill,   Preacher  61 

Jennings.  I  turn  the  mare  and  cutter  over  to  Jacob 
Bensen,  for  the  note  he  holds.  I  hain't  got  much  reli 
gion  left,  but  I've  got  some  morality.  That's  all  I  want 
to  say  now." 

When  he  sat  down  there  was  a  profound  hush ;  then 
Bacon  arose. 

"  That's  man's  talk,  that  is  !  An'  I  jest  want  'o  say, 
Andrew  Pill,  that  you  kin  jest  forgit  you  owe  me  any 
thing.  An'  if  ye  want  any  help  come  to  me.  Y're 
jest  gittun'  ready  to  preach,  'n'  I'm  ready  to  give  ye 
my  support." 

"  That's  the  talk,"  said  Councill.  "  I'm  with  ye  on 
that." 

Pill  shook  his  head.  The  painful  silence  which  fol 
lowed  was  broken  by  the  effusive  voice  of  Wheat :  — 

"  Let  us  pray  —  and  remember  our  lost  brother." 

The  urgings  of  the  people  were  of  no  avail.  Mr. 
Pill  settled  up  his  affairs  and  moved  to  Cresco,  where 
he  went  back  into  trade  with  a  friend,  and  for  three 
years  attended  silently  to  his  customers,  lived  down 
their  curiosity,  and  studied  anew  the  problem  of  life. 
Then  he  moved  away,  and  no  one  knew  whither. 

One  day  last  year  Bacon  met  Jennings  on  the  road. 

"  Heerd  anything  o'  Pill  lately  ?  " 

"  No,  have  you  ? " 

"  Waal,  yes.  Brown  told  me  he  ran  acrost  him 
down  in  Eelinoy,  doun'  well,  too." 

"  In  dry  goods  ?  " 

"  No,  preachun'." 


62  Prairie  Folks 

«  Preachun'  ? " 

u  So  Brown  said.  Kind  of  a  free-Pr-all  church,  I 
reckon,  from  what  Jedge  told  me.  Built  a  new  church ; 
fills  it  twice  a  Sunday.  I'd  like  to  hear  him,  but  he's 
got  t'  be  too  big  a  gun  f'r  us.  Ben  studyun',  they  say ; 
went  t'  school." 

Jennings  drove  sadly  and  thoughtfully  on. 

"  Rather  stumps  Brother  Jennings,"  laughed  Bacon, 
in  a  good-humored  growl. 


A   DAY   OF   GRACE 

The  grace  of  God  is  on  you,  girl, 
He  is  most  glad  of  every  limb  ; 
His  joy  is  in  each  glancing  curl, 
And  every  dimple  pleases  Him. 


A   DAY   OF  GRACE 

SUNDAY  is  the  day  for  courtship  on  the  prairie.  It 
has  also  the  piety  of  cleanliness.  It  allows  the  young 
man  to  get  back  to  a  self-respecting  sweetness  of  person, 
and  enables  the  girls  to  look  as  nature  intended,  dainty 
and  sweet  as  posies. 

The  change  from  everyday  clothing  on  the  part  of 
young  workmen  like  Ben  Griswold  was  more  than 
change  ;  it  approached  transformation.  It  took  more 
than  courage  to  go  through  the  change,  —  it  required 
love. 

Ben  arose  a  little  later  on  Sunday  morning  than  on 
weekdays,  but  there  were  the  chores  to  do  as  usual. 
The  horses  must  be  watered,  fed,  and  curried,  and  the 
cows  were  to  milk,  but  after  breakfast  Ben  threw  off 
the  cares  of  the  hired  hand.  When  he  came  down 
from  the  little  garret  into  which  the  hot  August  sun 
streamed  redly,  he  was  a  changed  creature.  Clean 
from  tip  to  toe,  newly  shaven,  wearing  a  crackling 
white  shirt,  a  linen  collar  and  a  new  suit  of  store 
clothes,  he  felt  himself  a  man  again,  fit  to  meet  maidens. 

His  partner,  being  a  married  man,  was  slouching 
around  in  his  tattered  and  greasy  brown  denim  overalls. 
He  looked  at  Ben  and  grinned. 

"Got  a  tag  on  y'rself?  " 

"  No,  why  ?  " 

65 


66  Prairie  Folks 

"  Nobod'y  know  ye,  if  anything  happened  on  the 
road.  There's  thirty  dollars  gone  to  the  dogs."  He 
sighed.  "  Oh,  well,  you'll  get  over  that,  just  as  I  did." 

"  I  hope  I  won't  get  over  liking  to  be  clean,"  Ben 
said  a  little  sourly.  "  I  won't  be  back  to  milk." 

"  Didn't  expect  ye.  That's  the  very  time  o'  day  the 
girls  are  purtiest, — just  about  sundown.  Better  take 
Rock.  I  may  want  the  old  team  myself." 

Ben  hitched  up  and  drove  off  in  the  warm  bright 
morning,  with  wonderful  elation,  clean  and  self-respect 
ing  once  more.  His  freshly  shaven  face  felt  cool,  and 
his  new  suit  fitted  him  well.  His  heart  took  on  a  great 
resolution,  which  was  to  call  upon  Grace. 

The  thought  of  her  made  his  brown  hands  shake,  and 
he  remembered  how  many  times  he  had  sworn  to  visit 
her,  but  had  failed  of  courage,  though  it  seemed  she  had 
invited  him  by  word  and  look  to  do  so. 

He  overtook  Milton  Jennings  on  his  way  along  the 
poplar-lined  lane. 

"  Hello,  Milt,  where  you  bound  ?  " 

Milton  glanced  up  with  a  curious  look  in  his  laughing 
eyes.  From  the  pockets  of  his  long  linen  duster  he 
drew  a  handful  of  beautiful  scarlet  and  yellow  Siberian 
crab-apples. 

"  See  them  crabs  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  see  'em." 

Milton  drew  a  similar  handful  out  of  his  left  pocket. 
"  See  those  ?  " 

"What  y'  going  to  do  with  'em  ?  " 

u  Take  'em  home  again." 


A  Day  of  Grace  67 

Something  in  Milton's  voice  led  him  to  ask  soberly :  — 

"What  did  you  intend  doing  with  'em  ?  " 

"  Present  'em  to  Miss  Cole." 

"  Well,  why  didn't  y'  do  it  ?  " 

Milton  showed  his  white  teeth  in  a  smile  that  was 
frankly  derisive  of  himself. 

"  Well,  when  I  got  over  there  I  found  young  Con- 
ley's  sorrel  hitched  to  one  post  and  Walt  Brown's  gray 
hitched  to  the  other.  I  went  in,  but  I  didn't  stay  long ; 
in  fact,  I  didn't  sit  down.  I  was  afraid  those  infernal 
apples  would  roll  out  o'  my  pockets.  I  was  afraid 
they'd  find  out  I  brought  'em  over  there  for  Miss  Cole, 
like  the  darn  fool  I  was." 

They  both  laughed  heartily.  Milton  was  always  as 
severe  upon  himself  as  upon  any  one  else. 

"  That's  tough,"  said  Ben,  "  but  climb  in,  and  let's 
go  to  Sunday-school." 

Milton  got  in,  and  they  ate  the  apples  as  they  rode 
along. 

The  Grove  schoolhouse  was  the  largest  in  the 
township,  and  was  the  only  one  with  a  touch  of  re 
deeming  grace.  It  was  in  a  lovely  spot ;  great  oaks 
stood  all  about,  and  back  of  it  the  woods  grew  thick, 
and  a  clear  creek  gurgled  over  its  limestone  bed  not  far 
away. 

To  Ben  and  Milton  there  was  a  wondrous  charm 
about  the  Grove  schoolhouse.  It  was  the  one  place 
where  the  boys  and  girls  met  in  garments  disassociated 
from  toil.  Sundays  in  summer,  and  on  winter  nights 
at  lyceums  or  protracted  meetings,  the  boys  came  to 


68  Prairie  Folks 

see  the  girls  in  their  bright  dresses,  with  their  clear 
and  (so  it  seemed)  scornful  bright  eyes. 

All  through  the  service  Ben  sat  where  he  could  see 
Grace  by  turning  his  head,  but  he  had  not  the  courage 
to  do  so.  Once  or  twice  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
curve  of  her  cheek  and  the  delicate  lines  of  her  ear, 
and  a  suffocating  throb  came  into  his  throat. 

He  wanted  to  ask  her  to  go  with  him  down  to 
Cedarville  to  the  Methodist  camp-meeting,  but  he 
knew  it  was  impossible.  He  could  not  even  say  "  good 
day"  when  she  took  pains  to  pass  near  him  after  church. 
He  nodded  like  a  great  idiot,  all  ease  and  dignity  lost, 
his  throat  too  dry  and  hot  to  utter  a  sound. 

He  cursed  his  shyness  as  he  went  out  after  his  horse. 
He  saw  her  picking  her  dainty  way  up  the  road  with 
Conrad  Sieger  walking  by  her  side.  What  made  it 
worse  for  Ben  was  a  dim  feeling  that  she  liked  him, 
and  would  go  with  him  if  he  had  the  courage  to  ask  her. 

"  Well,  Ben,"  said  Milton,  "  it's  settled,  we  go  to 
Rock  River  to-night  to  the  camp-meeting.  Did  you 
ask  Grace  ?  " 

"No,  she's  going  with  Con.  It's  just  my  blasted 
luck." 

"  That's  too  bad.  Well,  come  with  us.  Take 
Maud." 

As  he  rode  away  Ben  passed  Grace  on  the  road. 

"  Going  to  the  camp-meeting,  Con  ?  "  asked  Milton, 
in  merry  voice. 

"  I  guess  so,"  said  Conrad,  a  handsome,  but  slow- 
witted  German. 


A  Day  of  Grace  69 

As  they  went  on  Ben  could  have  wept.  His  keener 
perception  told  him  there  was  a  look  of  appeal  in 
Grace's  upturned  eyes. 

He  made  a  poor  companion  at  dinner,  and  poor 
plain  Maud  knew  his  mind  was  elsewhere.  She  was 
used  to  that  and  accepted  it  with  a  pathetic  attempt  to 
color  it  differently. 

They  got  away  about  five  o'clock. 

Ben  drove  the  team,  driving  took  his  mind  off  his 
weakness  and  failure ;  while  Milton  in  the  seclusion 
of  the  back  seat  of  the  carryall  was  happy  with 
Amelia  Turner. 

It  was  growing  dark  as  they  entered  upon  the  curv 
ing  road  along  the  river  which  was  a  relief  from  the 
rectangular  and  sun-smitten  roads  of  the  prairie.  They 
lingered  under  the  great  oaks  and  elms  which  shaded 
them.  It  would  have  been  perfect  Ben  thought,  if 
Grace  had  been  beside  him  in  Maud's  place. 

He  wondered  how  he  should  manage  to  speak  to 
Grace.  There  was  a  time  when  it  seemed  easier. 
Now  the  consciousness  of  his  love  made  the  simplest 
question  seem  like  the  great  question  of  all. 

Other  teams  were  on  the  road,  some  returning,  some 
going.  A  camp-meeting  had  come  to  be  an  annual 
amusement,  like  a  circus,  and  young  people  from  all 
over  the  country  drove  down  on  Sundays,  as  if  to 
some  celebration  with  fireworks. 

"There's  the  lane,"  said  Milton.  "See  that  team 
goin'  in  ? " 

Ben  pulled  up  and  they  looked  at  it  doubtfully.     It 


yo  Prairie  Folks 

looked  dangerously  miry.  It  was  quite  dark  now  and 
Ben  said  :  — 

"  That's  a  scaly  piece  of  road." 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right.      Hark  !  " 

As  they  listened  they  could  hear  the  voice  of  the 
exhorter  nearly  a  mile  away.  It  pushed  across  the 
cool  spaces  with  a  wild  and  savage  sound.  The  young 
people  thrilled  with  excitement. 

Insects  were  singing  in  the  grass.  Frogs  with 
deepening  chorus  seemed  to  announce  the  coming  of 
night,  and  above  these  peaceful  sounds  came  the  wild 
shouts  of  the  far-off  preacher,  echoing  through  the 
cool  green  arches  of  the  splendid  grove. 

The  girls  became  silent,  as  the  voice  grew  louder. 

Lights  appeared  ahead,  and  the  road  led  up  a  slight 
hill  to  a  gate.  Ben  drove  on  under  a  grove  of  oaks, 
past  dimly  lighted  tents,  whose  open  flaps  showed 
tumbled  beds  and  tables  laden  with  crockery.  Heavy 
women  were  moving  about  inside,  their  shadows 
showing  against  the  tent  walls  like  figures  in  a  panto 
mime. 

The  young  people  alighted  in  curious  silence.  As 
they  stood  a  moment,  tying  the  team,  the  preacher  lifted 
his  voice  in  a  brazen,  clanging,  monotonous  reiteration 
of  worn  phrases. 

"  Come  to  the  Lord !  Come  now  !  Come  to  the 
light  !  Jesus  will  give  it !  Now  is  the  appointed  time, 
—  come  to  the  light !  " 

From  a  tent  near  by  arose  the  groaning,,  gasping, 
gurgling  scream  of  a  woman  in  mortal  agony. 


A  Day  of  Grace  71 

«  O  my  God  !  " 

It  was  charged  with  the  most  piercing  distress.  It 
cut  to  the  heart's  palpitating  centre  like  a  poniard  thrust. 
It  had  murder  and  outrage  in  it. 

The  girls  clutched  Ben  and  Milton.  "  Oh,  let's  go 
home  !  " 

"  No,  let's  go  and  see  what  it  all  is." 

The  girls  hung  close  to  the  arms  of  the  young  men 
and  they  went  down  to  the  tent  and  looked  in. 

It  was  filled  with  a  motley  throng  of  people,  most  of 
them  seated  on  circling  benches.  A  fringe  of  careless 
or  scoffing  onlookers  stood  back  against  the  tent  wall. 
Many  of  them  were  strangers  to  Ben. 

Occasionally  a  Norwegian  farm-hand,  or  a  bevy  of 
young  people  from  some  near  district,  lifted  the  flap  and 
entered  with  curious  or  laughing  or  insolent  faces. 

The  tent  was  lighted  dimly  by  kerosene  lamps,  hung 
in  brackets  against  the  poles,  and  by  stable  lanterns  set 
here  and  there  upon  the  benches. 

Ben  and  Milton  ushered  the  girls  in  and  seated  them 
a  little  way  back.  The  girls  smiled,  but  only  faintly. 
The  undertone  of  women's  cries  moved  them  in  spite  of 
their  scorn  of  it  all. 

"  What  cursed  foolishness  !  "  said  Ben  to  Milton. 

Milton  smiled,  but  did  not  reply.  He  only  nodded 
toward  the  exhorter,  a  man  with  a  puffy  jumble  of 
features  and  the  form  of  a  gladiator,  who  was  uttering 
wild  and  explosive  phrases. 

"Oh,  my  friends  !  I  bless  the  Lord  for  the  SHALL 
in  the  word.  You  SHALL  get  light.  You  SHALL 


72  Prairie  Folks 

be  saved.  Oh,  the  SHALL  in  the  word !  You 
SHALL  be  redeemed!" 

As  he  grew  more  excited,  his  hoarse  voice  rose  in 
furious  screams,  as  if  he  were  defying  hell's  legions, 
Foam  lay  on  his  lips  and  flew  from  his  mouth.  At 
every  repetition  of  the  word  u  shall  "  he  struck  the  desk 
a  resounding  blow  with  his  great  palm. 

u  He's  a  hard  hitter,"  said  Milton. 

At  length  he  leaped,  apparently  in  uncontrollable  ex 
citement,  upon  the  mourners'  bench,  and  ran  up  and 
down  close  to  the  listening,  moaning  audience.  He 
walked  with  a  furious  rhythmic,  stamping  action,  like  a 
Sioux  in  the  war  dance.  Wild  cries  burst  from  his 
audience,  antiphonal  with  his  own. 

"  He  '  SHALL '  send  light  !  " 

"  Send  Thy  arrows,  O  Lord." 

"  O  God,  come  !  " 

"  He  'SHALL  '  keep  His  word !  " 

One  old  negro  woman,  fat,  powerful,  and  gloomy, 
suddenly  arose  and  uttered  a  scream  that  had  the  dignity 
and  savagery  of  a  mountain  lion's  cry.  It  rang  far  out 
into  the  night. 

The  exhorter  continued  his  mad,  furious,  thumping, 
barbaric  walk. 

Behind  him  a  row  of  other  exhorters  sat,  a  relay  ready 
to  leap  to  his  aid.  They  urged  on  the  tumult  with  wild 
cries. 

"  A-men,  brother." 

"  YES,  brother,  YES ! "  clapping  their  hands  in 
rhythm. 


A  Day  of  Grace  73 

The  exhorter  redoubled  his  fury.  He  was  like  a  jaded 
actor  rising  at  applause,  carried  out  of  his  self-command. 

Out  of  the  obscure  tumult  of  faces  and  tossing  hands 
there  came  at  last  certain  recognizable  features.  The 
people  were  mainly  farming  folks  of  the  more  ignorant 
sort,  rude  in  dress  and  bearing,  hard  and  bent  with  toil. 
They  were  recognizably  of  a  class  subject  to  these  low 
forms  of  religious  excitement  which  were  once  well- 
nigh  universal. 

The  outer  fringe  continued  to  smile  scornfully  and  to 
jest,  yet  they  were  awed,  in  a  way,  by  this  suddenly 
revealed  deep  of  barbaric  emotion. 

The  girls  were  appalled  by  the  increasing  clangor. 
Milton  was  amused,  but  Ben  grew  bitter.  Something 
strong  came  out  in  him,  too.  His  lip  curled  in  disgust. 

Suddenly,  out  of  the  level  space  of  bowed  shoulders, 
tossing  hands,  and  frenzied,  upturned  faces,  a  young  girl 
leaped  erect.  She  was  strong  and  handsome,  powerful 
in  the  waist  and  shoulders.  Her  hair  was  braided  like  a 
child's,  and  fell  down  her  back  in  a  single  strand.  Her 
head  was  girlish,  but  her  face  looked  old  and  drawn  and 
tortured. 

She  moaned  pitifully ;  she  clapped  her  hands  with 
wild  gestures,  ending  in  a  quivering  motion.  The 
action  grew  to  lightning-like  quickness.  Her  head 
seemed  to  set  in  its  socket.  Her  whole  body  stiffened. 
Gasping  moans  came  from  her  clenched  teeth  as  she 
fell  to  the  ground  and  rolled  under  the  seats,  wallowing 
in  the  muddy  straw  and  beating  her  feet  upon  the 
ground  like  a  dying  partridge. 


74  Prairie  Folks 

The  people  crowded  about  her,  but  the  preacher, 
roared  above  the  tumult :  — 

"  Si'  down  !  Never  mind  that  party.  She's  all  right ; 
she's  in  the  hands  of  the  Lord  !  " 

The  people  settled  into  their  seats,  and  the  wild 
tumult  went  on  again.  Ben  rose  to  go  over  where  the 
girl  was  and  the  others  followed. 

A  young  man  seated  by  the  struggling  sinner  held  her 
hand  and  fanned  her  with  his  hat,  while  some  girl  friends, 
scared  and  sobbing,  kept  the  tossing  limbs  covered.  She 
rolled  from  side  to  side  restlessly,  thrusting  forth  her 
tongue  as  if  her  throat  were  dry.  She  looked  like  a 
dying  animal. 

Maud  clung  to  Milton. 

"  Oh,  can't  something  be  done  ?  " 

"  Her  soul  is  burdened  for  you !  "  cried  a  wild  old 
woman  to  the  impassive  youth  who  clung  to  the  frenzied 
girl's  hand. 

A  moment  later,  as  the  demoniacal  chorus  of  yells, 
songs,  incantations,  shrieks,  groans,  and  prayers  swelled 
high,  a  farmer's  wife  on  the  left  uttered  a  hoarse  cry 
and  stiffened  and  fell  backward  upon  the  ground.  She 
rolled  her  head  from  side  to  side.  Her  eyes  turned  in  ; 
her  lips  wore  a  maniac's  laugh,  and  her  troubled  brow 
made  her  look  like  the  death  mask  of  a  tortured  mur 
derer,  the  hell  horror  frozen  on  it. 

She  sank  at  last  into  a  hideous  calm,  with  her  strained 
and  stiffened  hands  pointing  weirdly  up.  She  was  like 
marble.  She  did  not  move  a  hair's  breadth  during  the 
next  two  hours. 


A  Day  of  Grace  75 

Over  to  the  left  a  young  man  leaped  to  his  feet  with 
a  scream :  — 

"  Jesus,  Jesus,  JESUS  !  " 

The  great  negress  caught  him  in  her  arms  as  he 
fell,  and  laid  him  down,  then  leaped  up  and  down, 
shrieking :  — 

"  O  Jesus,  come.     Come,  God's  Lamb  !  " 

Around  her  a  dozen  women  took  up  her  cry.  Most 
of  them  had  no  voices.  Their  horrifying  screams  had 
become  hoarse  hisses,  yet  still  they  strove.  Scores  of 
voices  were  mixed  in  the  pandemonium  of  prayer. 

All  order  was  lost.  Three  of  the  preachers  now 
stood  shouting  before  the  mourners'  bench,  two  were 
in  the  aisles. 

One  came  down  the  aisle  toward  the  girl  with  the 
braided  hair.  As  he  came  he  prayed.  Foam  was  on 
his  lips,  but  his  eyes  were  cool  and  calculating;  they 
betrayed  him. 

As  he  came  he  fixed  his  gaze  upon  a  woman  seated 
near  the  prostrate  girl,  and  with  a  horrible  outcry  the 
victim  leaped  into  the  air  and  stiffened  as  if  smitten 
with  epilepsy.  She  fell  against  some  scared  boys,  who 
let  her  fall,  striking  her  head  against  the  seats.  She  too 
rolled  down  upon  the  straw  and  lay  beside  her  sister. 
Both  had  round,  pretty,  but  childish  faces. 

Milton's  party  retreated.  They  smiled  no  more; 
they  were  horror-stricken. 

Squads  of  "workers"  now  moved  down  the  aisles; 
in  one  they  surrounded  two  people,  a  tall,  fair  girl  and 
a  young  man. 


j6  Prairie  Folks 

"  Why,  it's  Grace  !  "  exclaimed  Maud. 

Ben  turned  quickly,  "  Where  ?  " 

They  pointed  her  out. 

"  She  can't  get  away.  See !  Oh,  boys,  don't  let 
them  —  " 

Ben  pushed  his  way  toward  her,  his  face  set  in  a 
fierce  frown,  bitter,  desperate. 

Grace  stood  silently  beside  one  of  the  elders;  a 
woman  exhorter  stood  before  her.  Conrad,  overawed, 
had  fallen  into  a  trembling  stupor ;  Grace  was  defense 
less. 

The  elder's  hand  hovered  over  her  head,  on  her  face 
a  deadly  pallor  had  settled,  her  eyes  were  cast  down,  she 
breathed  painfully  and  trembled  from  head  to  foot.  She 
was  about  to  fall,  when  Ben  set  his  eyes  upon  her. 

"  Get  out  o'  my  way,"  he  shouted,  shouldering  up 
the  aisle.  His  words  had  oaths,  his  fists  were  like 
mauls. 

"  Grace !  "  he  cried,  and  she  heard.  She  looked  up 
and  saw  him  coming ;  the  red  flamed  over  her  face. 

The  power  of  the  preacher  was  gone. 

"  Let  me  go,"  she  cried,  trying  to  wring  herself  loose. 

"You  are  going  to  hell.  You  are  lost  if  you  do 
not  —  " 

u  God  damn  ye.  Get  out  o'  way.  I'll  kill  ye  if  you 
lay  a  hand  on  her." 

With  one  thrust  Ben  cleared  her  tormentor  from  her 
arm.  For  one  moment  the  wordless  young  man  looked 
into  her  eyes;  then  she  staggered  toward  him.  He 
faced  the  preacher. 


A  Day  of  Grace  77 

"I'd  smash  hell  out  o'  you  for  a  leather  cent,"  he 
said.  In  the  tumult  his  words  were  lost,  but  the  look 
on  his  face  was  enough.  The  exhorter  fell  away. 

Their  retreat  was  unnoted  in  the  tumult.  At  the 
door  they  looked  back  for  an  instant  at  the  scene. 

At  the  mourners'  bench  were  six  victims  in  all  stages 
of  induced  catalepsy,  one  man  with  head  flung  back, 
one  with  his  hands  pointing,  fixed  in  furious  appeal. 
Another  with  bowed  head  was  being  worked  upon  by 
a  brother  of  hypnotic  appeal.  He  struck  with  down 
ward,  positive  gestures  on  either  side  of  the  victim's 
head. 

Over  another  the  negress  towered,  screaming  with 
panther-like  ferocity :  — 

"  Git  under  de  blood  !      Git  under  de  blood !  " 

As  she  screamed  she  struck  down  at  the  mourner 
with  her  clenched  fist.  On  her  face  was  the  grin  of  a 
wildcat. 

Out  under  the  cool,  lofty  oaks,  the  outcry  was  more 
inexpressibly  hellish,  because  overhead  the  wind  rustled 
the  sweet  green  leaves,  crickets  were  chirping,  and  the 
scent  of  flowering  fields  of  buckwheat  was  in  the  air. 

Grace  grew  calmer,  but  she  clung  with  strange  weak 
ness  to  her  lover.  She  felt  he  had  saved  her  from 
something,  she  did  not  know  what,  but  it  was  some 
thing  terrifying  to  look  back  upon. 

Conrad  was  forgotten  —  set  aside.  Ben  bundled  him 
into  the  carryall  and  took  his  place  with  Grace.  He 
no  longer  hesitated,  argued,  or  apologized.  He  had 
claimed  his  own. 


78  Prairie  Folks 

On  the  long  ride  home,  Grace  lay  within  his  right 
arm,  and  the  young  man's  tongue  was  unchained.  He 
talked,  and  his  spirit  grew  tender  and  manly  and  hus- 
bandlike,  as  he  told  his  plans  and  his  hopes.  Hell  was 
very  far  away,  and  Heaven  was  very  near. 


A  Farmer's  Wife  79 


A   FARMER'S   WIFE 

"  BORN  an'  scrubbed,  suffered  and  died." 
That's  all  you  need  to  say,  elder. 

Never  mind  sayin'  u  made  a  bride," 
Nor  when  her  hair  got  gray. 

Jest  say,  born  'n  worked  t'  death ; 

That  fits  it,— -save  y'r  breath. 

I  knew  M'tildy  when  a  girl, 
'N  a  darn  purty  girl  she  was  ! 

Her  hair  was  shiny  'n  full  o'  curl, 
An'  her  eyes  a  kind  o'  spring-day  blue. 

O,  I  know !     Courted  her  once  m'self, 

Till  Brown  he  laid  me  on  the  shelf. 

I've  seen  that  woman  once  a  week 
Ever  since  that  very  day  in  church, 

When  Ben  turned  round  'n  kissed  her  cheek 
And  the  preacher  knelt  to  pray. 

I've  watched  her  growing  old  so  fast  — 

Her  breath  jest  flickered  toward  the  last. 

Made  me  think  of  a  clock  run  down, 
Sure  's  y're  born,  that  woman  did ; 

A-workin'  away  for  old  Ben  Brown 
Patient  as  a  Job  an'  meek  as  a  kid, 

Till  she  sort  o'  stopped  one  day  — 

Heart  quit  tickin',  a  feller  'd  say. 


8o  Prairie  Folks 

Wasn't  old,  nuther,  forty-six  —  No, 
Jest  got  humpt,  an'  thin  an'  gray, 

Washin'  an'  churnin'  an'  sweepin',  by  Joe, 
F'r  fourteen  hours  or  more  a  day. 

Brats  o'  sickly  children  every  year 

To  drag  the  life  plum  out  o'  her. 

Worked  to  death.     Starved  to  death. 
Died  f 'r  lack  of  air  an'  sun  — 

Dyin'  f 'r  rest,  and  f'r  jest  a  breath 
O'  simple  praise  for  what  she'd  done. 

An'  many  's  the  woman  this  very  day, 

Elder,  dyin'  slow  in  that  same  way. 


LUCRETIA   BURNS 


LUCRETIA    BURNS 

I 

LUCRETIA  BURNS  had  never  been  handsome,  even  in 
her  days  of  early  girlhood,  and  now  she  was  middle- 
aged,  distorted  with  work  and  child-bearing,  and  look 
ing  faded  and  worn  as  one  of  the  boulders  that  lay 
beside  the  pasture  fence  near  where  she  sat  milking  a 
large  white  cow. 

She  had  no  shawl  or  hat  and  no  shoes,  for  it  was 
still  muddy  in  the  little  yard,  where  the  cattle  stood 
patiently  fighting  the  flies  and  mosquitoes  swarming  into 
their  skins,  already  wet  with  blood.  The  evening  was 
oppressive  with  its  heat,  and  a  ring  of  just-seen  thunder- 
heads  gave  premonitions  of  an  approaching  storm. 

She  rose  from  the  cow's  side  at  last,  and,  taking  her 
pails  of  foaming  milk,  staggered  toward  the  gate.  The 
two  pails  hung  from  her  lean  arms,  her  bare  feet  slipped 
on  the  filthy  ground,  her  greasy  and  faded  calico  dress 
showed  her  tired  and  swollen  ankles,  and  the  mosqui 
toes  swarmed  mercilessly  on  her  neck  and  bedded  them 
selves  in  her  colorless  hair. 

The  children  were  quarrelling  at  the  well,  and  the 
sound  of  blows  could  be  heard.  Calves  were  queru 
lously  calling  for  their  milk,  and  little  turkeys,  lost  in  a 
tangle  of  grass,  were  piping  plaintively. 

83 


84  Prairie  Folks 

The  sun  just  setting  struck  through  a  long,  low  rift, 
like  a  boy  peeping  beneath  the  eaves  of  a  huge  roof. 
Its  light  brought  out  Lucretia's  face  as  she  leaned  her 
sallow  forehead  on  the  top  bar  of  the  gate  and  looked 
toward  the  west. 

It  was  a  pitifully  worn,  almost  tragic  face  —  long, 
thin,  sallow,  hollow-eyed.  The  mouth  had  long  since 
lost  the  power  to  shape  itself  into  a  kiss,  and  had  a 
droop  at  the  corners  which  seemed  to  announce  a  break 
ing-down  at  any  moment  into  a  despairing  wail.  The 
collarless  neck  and  sharp  shoulders  showed  painfully. 

She  felt  vaguely  that  the  night  was  beautiful.  The 
setting  sun,  the  noise  of  frogs,  the  nocturnal  insects  be 
ginning  to  pipe  —  all  in  some  way  called  her  girlhood 
back  to  her,  though  there  was  little  in  her  girlhood  to 
give  her  pleasure.  Her  large  gray  eyes  grew  round, 
deep,  and  wistful  as  she  saw  the  illimitable  craggy  clouds 
grow  crimson,  roll  slowly  up,  and  fire  at  the  top.  A 
childish  scream  recalled  her. 

"  Oh,  my  soul !  "  she  half  groaned,  half  swore,  as 
she  lifted  her  milk  and  hurried  to  the  well.  Arriving 
there,  she  cuffed  the  children  right  and  left  with  all  her 
remaining  strength,  saying  in  justification  :  — 

"My  soul!  can't  you  —  you  young  'uns,  give  me  a 
minute's  peace  ?  Land  knows,  I'm  almost  gone  up  ; 
washin',  an'  milkin'  six  cows,  and  tendin'  you,  and 
cookin'  Pr  him,  ought  'o  be  enough  Pr  one  day  !  Sadie, 
you  let  him  drink  now  'r  I'll  slap  your  head  off,  you 
hateful  thing  !  Why  can't  you  behave,  when  you  know 
I'm  jest  about  dead  ?  "  She  was  weeping  now,  with 


Lucretia  Burns  85 

nervous  weakness.  "  Where's  y'r  pa  ? "  she  asked 
after  a  moment,  wiping  her  eyes  with  her  apron. 

One  of  the  group,  the  one  cuffed  last,  sniffed  out,  in 
rage  and  grief:  — 

"  He's  in  the  corn-field  ;  where'd  ye  s'pose  he  was  ? " 

"  Good  land !  why  don't  the  man  work  all  night  ? 
Sile,  you  put  that  dipper  in  that  milk  agin,  an'  I'll 
whack  you  till  your  head'll  swim  !  Sadie,  le'  go  Pet,  an' 
go  'n  get  them  turkeys  out  of  the  grass  'fore  it  gits 
dark  !  Bob,  you  go  tell  y'r  dad  if  he  wants  the  rest  o' 
them  cows  milked  he's  got  'o  do  it  himself.  I  jest 
can't,  and  what's  more,  I  won't"  she  ended,  rebel- 
liously. 

Having  strained  the  milk  and  fed  the  children,  she 
took  some  skimmed  milk  from  the  cans  and  started  to 
feed  the  calves  bawling  strenuously  behind  the  barn. 
The  eager  and  unruly  brutes  pushed  and  struggled 
to  get  into  the  pails  all  at  once,  and  in  consequence 
spilt  nearly  all  of  the  milk  on  the  ground.  This  was 
the  last  trial ;  the  woman  fell  down  on  the  damp  grass 
and  moaned  and  sobbed  like  a  crazed  thing.  The 
children  came  to  seek  her  and  stood  around  like  little 
partridges,  looking  at  her  in  scared  silence,  till  at  last 
the  little  one  began  to  wail.  Then  the  mother  rose 
wearily  to  her  feet,  and  walked  slowly  back  toward  the 
house. 

She  heard  Burns  threshing  his  team  at  the  well,  with 
the  sound  of  oaths.  He  was  tired,  hungry,  and  ill-tem 
pered,  but  she  was  too  desperate  to  care.  His  poor, 
overworked  team  did  not  move  quickly  enough  for  him, 


86  Prairie  Folks 

and  his  extra  long  turn  in  the  corn  had  made  him  dan 
gerous.  His  eyes  gleamed  wrathfully  from  his  dust- 
laid  face. 

"  Supper  ready  ?  "  he  growled. 

u  Yes,  two  hours  ago." 

"  Well,  I  can't  help  it ! "  he  said,  understanding  her 
reproach.  "  That  devilish  corn  is  gettin'  too  tall  to 
plough  again,  and  I've  got  'o  go  through  it  to-morrow 
or  not  at  all.  Cows  milked  ?  " 

"  Part  of  'em." 

"  How  many  left  ?  " 

"  Three." 

«  Hell !     Which  three  ?  " 

"  Spot,  and  Brin,  and  Cherry." 

"  Of  course,  left  the  three  worst  ones.  I'll  be 
damned  if  I  milk  a  cow  to-night.  I  don't  see  why 
you  play  out  jest  the  nights  I  need  ye  most."  Here  he 
kicked  a  child  out  of  the  way.  u  Git  out  o'  that  ! 
Hain't  you  got  no  sense  ?  I'll  learn  ye  —  " 

"  Stop  that,  Sim  Burns,"  cried  the  woman,  snatching 
up  the  child.  "You're  a  reg'lar  oP  hyeny,  —  that's 
what  you  are,"  she  added  defiantly,  roused  at  last  from 
her  lethargy. 

"  You're  a  —  beauty,  that's  what  you  are,"  he  said, 
pitilessly.  "  Keep  your  brats  out  Pum  under  my  feet." 
And  he  strode  oft'  to  the  barn  after  his  team,  leaving  her 
with  a  fierce  hate  in  her 'heart.  She  heard  him  yelling 
at  his  team  in  their  stalls  :  "  Git  around  there,  damn 
yeh." 

The  children  had  had  their  supper ;  so  she  took  them 


Lucretia  Burns  87 

to  bed.  She  was  unusually  tender  to  them,  for  she 
wanted  to  make  up  in  some  way  for  her  previous  harsh 
ness.  The  ferocity  of  her  husband  had  shown  up  her 
own  petulant  temper  hideously,  and  she  sat  and  sobbed 
in  the  darkness  a  long  time  beside  the  cradle  where  little 
Pet  slept. 

She  heard  Burns  come  growling  in  and  tramp  about, 
but  she  did  not  rise.  The  supper  was  on  the  table ;  he 
could  wait  on  himself.  There  was  an  awful  feeling  at 
her  heart  as  she  sat  there  and  the  house  grew  quiet. 
She  thought  of  suicide  in  a  vague  way  ;  of  somehow 
taking  her  children  in  her  arms  and  sinking  into  a  lake 
somewhere,  where  she  would  never  more  be  troubled, 
where  she  could  sleep  forever,  without  toil  or  hunger. 

Then  she  thought  of  the  little  turkeys  wandering  in 
the  grass,  of  the  children  sleeping  at  last,  of  the  quiet, 
wonderful  stars.  Then  she  thought  of  the  cows  left 
unmilked,  and  listened  to  them  stirring  uneasily  in  the 
yard.  She  rose,  at  last,  and  stole  forth.  She  could  not 
rid  herself  of  the  thought  that  they  would  suffer.  She 
knew  what  the  dull  ache  in  the  full  breasts  of  a  mother 
was,  and  she  could  not  let  them  stand  at  the  bars  all 
night  moaning  for  relief. 

The  mosquitoes  had  gone,  but  the  frogs  and  katydids 
still  sang,  while  over  in  the  west  Venus  shone.  She  was 
a  long  time  milking  the  cows ;  her  hands  were  so  tired 
she  had  often  to  stop  and  rest  them,  while  the  tears  fell 
unheeded  into  the  pail.  She  saw  and  felt  little  of  the 
external  as  she  sat  there.  She  thought  in  vague  retro 
spect  of  how  sweet  it  seemed  the  first  time  Sim  came  to 


88  Prairie  Folks 

see  her;  of  the  many  rides  to  town  with  him  when  he 
was  an  accepted  lover;  of  the  few  things  he  had  given 
her  —  a  coral  breastpin  and  a  ring. 

She  felt  no  shame  at  her  present  miserable  appearance ; 
she  was  past  personal  pride.  She  hardly  felt  as  if  the 
tall,  strong  girl,  attractive  with  health  and  hope,  could  be 
the  same  soul  as  the  woman  who  now  sat  in  utter  despair 
listening  to  the  heavy  breathing  of  the  happy  cows,  grate 
ful  for  the  relief  from  their  burden  of  milk. 

She  contrasted  her  lot  with  that  of  two  or  three  women 
that  she  knew  (not  a  very  high  standard),  who  kept  hired 
help,  and  who  had  fine  houses  of  four  or  five  rooms. 
Even  the  neighbors  were  better  off  than  she,  for  they 
didn't  have  such  quarrels.  But  she  wasn't  to  blame  — 
Sim  didn't —  Then  her  mind  changed  to  a  dull  re 
sentment  against  "  things."  Everything  seemed  against 
her. 

She  rose  at  last  and  carried  her  second  load  of  milk  to 
the  well,  strained  it,  washed  out  the  pails,  and,  after 
bathing  her  tired  feet  in  a  tub  that  stood  there,  she  put 
on  a  pair  of  horrible  shoes,  without  stockings,  and  crept 
stealthily  into  the  house.  Sim  did  not  hear  her  as  she 
slipped  up  the  stairs  to  the  little  low  unfinished  chamber 
beside  her  oldest  children.  She  could  not  bear  to  sleep 
near  him  that  n:ght,  —  she  wanted  a  chance  to  sob  her 
self  to  quiet. 

As  for  Sim,  he  was  a  little  disturbed,  but  would  as 
soon  have  cut  off  his  head  as  acknowledged  himself  in 
the  wrong.  As  he  went  to  'bed,  and  found  her  srill 
away,  he  yelled  up  the  stairway  :  — 


Lucretia  Burns  89 

"  Say,  old  woman,  ain't  ye  comin'  to  bed  ? "  Upon 
receiving  no  answer  he  rolled  his  aching  body  into  the 
creaking  bed.  "  Do  as  y'  damn  please  about  it.  If  y* 
want  to  sulk  y'  can."  And  in  such  wise  the  family 
grew  quiet  in  sleep,  while  the  moist,  warm  air  pulsed 
with  the  ceaseless  chime  of  the  crickets. 


II 

WHEN  Sim  Burns  woke  the  next  morning  he  felt  a 
sharper  twinge  of  remorse.  It  was  not  a  broad  or  well- 
defined  feeling  —  just  a  sense  that  he  had  been  unduly 
irritable,  not  that  on  the  whole  he  was  not  in  the  right. 
Little  Pet  lay  with  the  warm  June  sunshine  filling  his 
baby  eyes,  curiously  content  in  striking  at  flies  that 
buzzed  around  his  little  mouth. 

::The  man  thrust  his  dirty,  naked  feet  into  his  huge 
boots,  and,  without  washing  his  face  or  combing  his  hair, 
went  out  to  the  barn  to  do  his  chores. 

He  was  a  type  of  the  average  prairie  farmer,  and  his 
whole  surrounding  was  typical  of  the  time.  He  had  a 
quarter-section  of  fine  level  land,  bought  with  incredible 
toil,  but  his  house  was  a  little  box-like  structure,  costing, 
perhaps,  five  hundred  dollars.  It  had  three  rooms  and 
the  ever-present  summer  kitchen  at  the  back.  It  was 
unpainted  and  had  no  touch  of  beauty,  —  a  mere  box. 

His  stable  was  built  of  slabs  and  banked  and  covered 
with  straw.  It  looked  like  a  den,  was  low  and  long, 
and  had  but  one  door  in  the  end.  The  cow-yard  held 
ten  or  fifteen  cattle  of  various  kinds,  while  a  few  calves 


90  Prairie  Folks 

were  bawling  from  a  pen  near  by.  Behind  the  barn,  on 
the  west  and  north,  was  a  fringe  of  willows  forming  a 
"wind-break."  A  few  broken  and  discouraged  fruit  trees, 
standing  here  and  there  among  the  weeds,  formed  the 
garden.  In  short,  he  was  spoken  of  by  his  neighbors  as 
"  a  hard-working  cuss,  and  tol'ably  well  fixed." 

No  grace  had  come  or  ever  could  come  into  his  life. 
Back  of  him  were  generations  of  men  like  himself, 
whose  main  business  had  been  to  work  hard,  live  mis 
erably,  and  beget  children  to  take  their  places  when 
they  died. 

His  courtship  had  been  delayed  so  long  on  account  of 
poverty  that  it  brought  little  of  humanizing  emotion  into 
his  life.  He  never  mentioned  his  love-life  now,  or  if  he 
did,  it  was  only  to  sneer  obscenely  at  it.  He  had  long 
since  ceased  to  kiss  his  wife  or  even  speak  kindly  to  her. 
There  was  no  longer  any  sanctity  to  life  or  love.  He 
chewed  tobacco  and  toiled  on  from  year  to  year  without 
any  very  clearly  defined  idea  of  the  future.  His  life  was 
mainly  regulated  from  without. 

He  was  tall,  dark,  and  strong,  in  a  flat-chested,  slouch 
ing  sort  of  way,  and  had  grown  neglectful  of  even 
decency  in  his  dress.  He  wore  the  American  farmer's 
customary  outfit  of  rough  brown  pants,  hickory  shirt,  and 
greasy  wool  hat.  It  differed  from  his  neighbors'  mainly 
in  being  a  little  dirtier  and  more  ragged.  His  grimy 
hands  were  broad  and  strong  as  the  clutch  of  a  bear,  and 
he  was  a  "  terrible  feller  to  turn  ofF  work,"  as  Councill 
said.  "I'd  ruther  have  Sim  Burns  work  for  me  one  day 
than  some  men  three,  j  He's  a  linger."  He  worked 


Lucretia  Burns  91 

with  unusual  speed  this  morning,  and  ended  by  milking 
all  the  cows  himself  as  a  sort  of  savage  penance  for 
his  misdeeds  the  previous  evening,  muttering  in  self- 
defence  :  — 

"  Seems  's  if  ever'  cussid  thing  piles  on  to  me  at  once. 
That  corn,  the  road-tax,  and  hayin'  comin'  on,  and  now 
she  gits  her  back  up  —  " 

When  he  went  back  to  the  well  he  sloshed  himself 
thoroughly  in  the  horse-trough  and  went  to  the  house. 
He  found  breakfast  ready,  but  his  wife  was  not  in  sight. 
The  older  children  were  clamoring  around  the  uninvit 
ing  breakfast  table,  spread  with  cheap  ware  and  with 
boiled  potatoes  and  fried  salt  pork  as  the  principal  dishes. 

"  Where's  y'r  ma  ?  "  he  asked,  with  a  threatening  note 
in  his  voice,  as  he  sat  down  by  the  table. 

"  She's  in  the  bedroom." 

He  rose  and  pushed  open  the  door.  The  mother  sat 
with  the  babe  in  her  lap,  looking  out  of  the  window 
down  across  the  superb  field  of  timothy,  moving  like  a 
lake  of  purple  water.  She  did  not  look  around.  She 
only  grew  rigid.  Her  thin  neck  throbbed  with  the  puls 
ing  of  blood  to  her  head. 

"  What's  got  into  you  now  ? "  he  said,  brutally. 
"  Don't  be  a  fool.  Come  out  and  eat  breakfast  with 
me,  an'  take  care  o'  y'r  young  ones." 

She  neither  moved  nor  made  a  sound.  With  an  oath 
he  turned  on  his  heel  and  went  out  to  the  table.  Eat 
ing  his  breakfast  in  his  usual  wolfish  fashion,  he  went 
out  into  the  hot  sun  with  his  team  and  riding-plough,  not 
a  little  disturbed  by  this  new  phase  of  his  wife's  u  can- 


92  Prairie  Folks 

tankerousness."  He  ploughed  steadily  and  sullenly  all  the 
forenoon,  in  the  terrific  heat  and  dust.  The  air  was  full 
of  tempestuous  threats,  still  and  sultry,  one  of  those  days 
when  work  is  a  punishment.  When  he  came  in  at 
noon  he  found  things  the  same  —  dinner  on  the  table, 
but  his  wife  out  in  the  garden  with  the  youngest  child. 

"  I  c'n  stand  it  as  long  as  she  can,"  he  said  to  him 
self,  in  the  hearing  of  the  children,  as  he  pushed  back 
from  the  table  and  went  back  to  work. 

When  he  had  finished  the  field  of  corn  it  was  after 
sundown,  and  he  came  up  to  the  house,  hot,  dusty,  his 
shirt  wringing  wet  with  sweat,  and  his  neck  aching  with 
the  work  of  looking  down  all  day  at  the  corn-rows. 
His  mood  was  still  stern.  The  multitudinous  lift,  and 
stir,  and  sheen  of  the  wide,  green  field  had  been  lost 
upon  him. 

"  I  wonder  if  she's  milked  them  cows,"  he  muttered 
to  himself.  He  gave  a  sigh  of  relief  to  find  she  had. 
But  she  had  done  so  not  for  his  sake,  but  for  the  sake 
of  the  poor,  patient  dumb  brutes. 

When  he  went  to  the  bedroom  after  supper,  he  found 
that  the  cradle  and  his  wife's  few  little  boxes  and  parcels 
—  poor,  pathetic  properties !  —  had  been  removed  to  the 
garret,  which  they  called  a  chamber,  and  he  knew  he 
was  to  sleep  alone  again. 

u  She'll  git  over  it,  I  guess."  He  was  very  tired,  but 
he  didn't  feel  quite  comfortable  enough  to  sleep.  The 
air  was  oppressive.  His  shirt,  wet  in  places,  and  stiff 
with  dust  in  other  places,  oppressed  him  more  than 
usual;  so  he  rose  and  removed  it,  getting  a  clean  one 


Lucretia  Burns  93 

out  of  a  drawer.  This  was  an  unusual  thing  for  him,  for 
he  usually  slept  in  the  same  shirt  which  he  wore  in  his 
day's  work ;  but  it  was  Saturday  night,  and  he  felt  justi 
fied  in  the  extravagance. 

In  the  meanwhile  poor  Lucretia  was  brooding  over 
her  life  in  a  most  dangerous  fashion.  All  she  had  done 
and  suffered  for  Simeon  Burns  came  back  to  her  till  she 
wondered  how  she  had  endured  it  all.  All  day  long  in 
the  midst  of  the  glorious  summer  landscape  she  brooded. 

"I  hate  him,"  she  thought,  with  a  fierce  blazing  up 
through  the  murk  of  her  musing.  "  I  hate  t'  live.  But 
they  ain't  no  hope.  I'm  tied  down.  I  can't  leave  the 
children,  and  I  ain't  got  no  money.  I  couldn't  make  a 
livjng  out  in  the  world.  I  ain't  never  seen  anything  an' 
don't  know  anything." 

She  was  too  simple  and  too  unknowing  to  speculate 
on  the  loss  of  her  beauty,  which  would  have  brought 
her  competency  once  —  if  sold  in  the  right  market.  As 
she  lay  in  her  little  attic  bed,  she  was  still  sullenly  think 
ing,  wearily  thinking  of  her  life.  She  thought  of  a  poor 
old  horse  which  Sim  had  bought  once,  years  before,  and 
put  to  the  plough  when  it  was  too  old  and  weak  to 
work.  She  could  see  her  again  as  in  a  vision,  that  poor 
old  mare,  with  sad  head  drooping,  toiling,  toiling,  till  at 
last  she  could  no  longer  move,  and  lying  down  under 
the  harness  in  the  furrow,  groaned  under  the  whip, — 
and  died. 

Then  she  wondered  if  her  own  numbness  and  despair 
meant  death,  and  she  held  her  breath  to  think  harder 


94  Prairie  Folks 

upon  it.  She  concluded  at  last,  grimly,  that  she  didn't 
care  —  only  for  the  children. 

The  air  was  frightfully  close  in  the  little  attic,  and 
she  heard  the  low  mutter  of  the  rising  storm  in  the 
west.  She  forgot  her  troubles  a  little,  listening  to  the 
far-off  gigantic  footsteps  of  the  tempest. 

Boom,  boom,  boom,  it  broke  nearer  and  nearer,  as  if  a 
vast  cordon  of  cannon  was  being  drawn  around  the 
horizon.  Yet  she  was  conscious  only  of  pleasure.  She 
had  no  fear.  At  last  came  the  sweep  of  cool,  fragrant 
storm-wind,  a  short  and  sudden  dash  of  rain,  and  then 
in  the  cool,  sweet  hush  which  followed,  the  worn  and 
weary  woman  fell  into  a  deep  sleep. 

Ill 

WHEN  she  woke  the  younger  children  were  playing 
about  on  the  floor  in  their  night-clothes,  and  little  Pet 
was  sitting  in  a  square  of  sunshine,  intent  on  one  of  his 
shoes.  He  was  too  young  to  know  how  poor  and 
squalid  his  surroundings  were,  —  the  patch  of  sunshine 
flung  on  the  floor  glorified  it  all.  He  —  little  animal  — 
was  happy. 

The  poor  of  the  Western  prairies  lie  almost  as  un 
healthily  close  together  as  do  the  poor  of  the  city 
tenements.  In  the  small  hut  of  the  peasant  there  is 
as  little  chance  to  escape  close  and  tainting  contact  as 
in  the  coops  and  dens  of  the  North  End  of  proud 
Boston.  In  the  midst  of  oceans  of  land,  floods  of 
sunshine  and  gulfs  of  verdure,  the  farmer  lives  in  two 


Lucretia  Burns  95 

or  three  small  rooms.  Poverty's  eternal  cordon  is  ever 
round  the  poor. 

"  Ma,  why  didn't  you  sleep  with  Pap  last  night  ?  " 
asked  Bob,  the  seven-year-old,  when  he  saw  she  was 
awake  at  last.  She  flushed  a  dull  red. 

"  You  hush,  will  yeh  ?  Because  —  I  —  it  was  too 
warm  —  and  there  was  a  storm  comin'.  You  never 
mind  askin'  such  questions.  Is  he  gone  out  ?  " 

"Yup.  I  heerd  him  callin'  the  pigs.  It's  Sunday, 
ain't  it,  ma  ?  " 

The  fact  seemed  to  startle  her. 

"  Why,  yes,  so  it  is  !  Wai !  Now,  Sadie,  you  jump 
up  an'  dress  quick  's  y'  can,  an'  Bob  an'  Sile,  you  run 
down  an'  bring  s'm'  water,"  she  commanded,  in  nervous 
haste,  beginning  to  dress.  In  the  middle  of  the  room 
there  was  scarce  space  to  stand  beneath  the  rafters. 

When  Sim  came  in  for  his  breakfast  he  found  it  on 
the  table,  but  his  wife  was  absent. 

"  Where's  y'r  ma  ? "  he  asked,  with  a  little  less  of 
the  growl  in  his  voice. 

"  She's  upstairs  with  Pet." 

The  man  ate  his  breakfast  in  dead  silence,  till  at  last 
Bob  ventured  to  say  :  — 

"  What  makes  ma  ac'  so  ?  " 

"  Shut  up ! "  was  the  brutal  reply.  The  children 
began  to  take  sides  with  the  mother — all  but  the 
oldest  girl,  who  was  ten  years  old.  To  her  the  father 
turned  now  for  certain  things  to  be  done,  treating  her 
in  his  rough  fashion  as  a  housekeeper,  and  the  girl  felt 
flattered  and  docile  accordingly. 


96  Prairie  Folks 

They  were  pitiably  clad ;  like  many  farm-children, 
indeed,  they  could  hardly  be  said  to  be  clad  at  all. 
Sadie  had  on  but  two  garments,  a  sort  of  undershirt  of 
cotton  and  a  faded  calico  dress,  out  of  which  her  barej 
yellow  little  legs  protruded,  lamentably  dirty  and  cov 
ered  with  scratches. 

The  boys  also  had  two  garments,  a  hickory  shirt  and 
a  pair  of  pants  like  their  father's,  made  out  of  brown 
denim  by  the  mother's  never-resting  hands  —  hands 
that  in  sleep  still  sewed,  and  skimmed,  and  baked,  and 
churned.  The  boys  had  gone  to  bed  without  washing 
their  feet,  which  now  looked  like  toads,  calloused, 
brown,  and  chapped. 

Part  of  this  the  mother  saw  with  her  dull  eyes  as 
she  came  down,  after  seeing  the  departure  of  Sim  up 
the  road  with  the  cows.  It  was  a  beautiful  Sunday 
morning,  and  the  woman  might  have  sung  like  a  bird 
if  men  had  been  as  kind  to  her  as  Nature.  But  she 
looked  dully  out  upon  the  seas  of  ripe  grasses,  tangled 
and  flashing  with  dew,  out  of  which  the  bobolinks  and 
larks  sprang.  The  glorious  winds  brought  her  no  mel 
ody,  no  perfume,  no  respite  from  toil  and  care. 

She  thought  of  the  children  she  saw  in  the  town, — 
children  of  the  merchant  and  banker,  clean  as  little 
dolls,  the  boys  in  knickerbocker  suits,  the  girls  in  dainty 
white  dresses,  —  and  a  vengeful  bitterness  sprang  up  in 
her  heart.  She  soon  put  the  dishes  away,  but  felt  too 
tired  and  listless  to  do  more. 

"  Taw-bay-wies  !  Pet  want  ta-aw-bay-wies  !  "  cried 
the  little  one,  tugging  at  her  dress. 


Lucretia  Burns  97 

Listlessly,  mechanically  she  took  him  in  her  arms, 
and  went  out  into  the  garden,  which  was  fragrant  and 
sweet  with  dew  and  sun.  After  picking  some  berries 
for  him,  she  sat  down  on  the  grass  under  the  row  of 
cottonwoods,  and  sank  into  a  kind  of  lethargy.  A 
kingbird  chattered  and  shrieked  overhead,  the  grass 
hoppers  buzzed  in  the  grasses,  strange  insects  with 
ventriloquistic  voices  sang  all  about  her  —  she  could 
not  tell  where. 

"  Ma,  can't  I  put  on  my  clean  dress  ?  "  insisted  Sadie. 

"  I  don't  care,"  said  the  brooding  woman,  darkly. 
"  Leave  me  alone." 

Oh,  if  she  could  only  lie  here  forever,  escaping  all 
pain  and  weariness  !  The  wind  sang  in  her  ears ;  the 
great  clouds,  beautiful  as  heavenly  ships,  floated  far  above 
in  the  vast,  dazzling  deeps  of  blue  sky ;  the  birds  rustled 
and  chirped  around  her;  leaping  insects  buzzed  and  clat 
tered  in  the  grass  and  in  the  vines  and  bushes.  The 
goodness  and  glory  of  God  was  in  the  very  air,  the  bit 
terness  and  oppression  of  man  in  every  line  of  her  face. 

But  her  quiet  was  broken  by  Sadie,  who  came  leaping 
like  a  fawn  down  through  the  grass. 

"  Oh,  ma,  Aunt  Maria  and  Uncle  William  are  coming. 
They've  jest  turned  in." 

u  I  don't  care  if  they  be  ! "  she  answered  in  the  same 
dully  irritated  way.  "  What're  they  comin'  here  to-day 
for,  I  wan'  to  know."  She  stayed  there  immovably,  till 
Mrs.  Councill  came  down  to  see  her,  piloted  by  two  or 
three  of  the  children.  Mrs.  Councill,  a  jolly,  large-framed 
woman,  smiled  brightly,  and  greeted  her  in  a  loud,  jovial 


98  Prairie  Folks 

voice.  She  made  the  mistake  of  taking  the  whole  mat 
ter  lightly ;  her  tone  amounted  to  ridicule. 

"Sim  says  you've  been  having  a  tantrum,  Creeshy. 
Don't  know  what  for,  he  says." 

"  He  don't,"  said  the  wife,  with  a  sullen  flash  in  her 
eyes.  "  He  don't  know  why  !  Well,  then,  you  just  tell 
him  what  I  say.  I've  lived  in  hell  long  enough.  I'm 
done.  I've  slaved  here  day  in  and  day  out  f r  twelve 
years  without  pay,  —  not  even  a  decent  word.  I've 
worked  like  no  nigger  ever  worked  'r  could  work  and 
live.  I've  given  him  all  I  had,  'r  ever  expect  to  have. 
Fm  wore  out.  My  strength  is  gone,  my  patience  is 
gone.  I'm  done  with  it,  —  that's  a  part  of  what's  the 
matter." 

"  My  sakes,  Lucreeshy  !    You  mustn't  talk  that  way." 

"  But  I  will"  said  the  woman,  as  she  supported  her 
self  on  one  palm  and  raised  the  other.  u  I've  got  to  talk 
that  way."  She  was  ripe  for  an  explosion  like  this. 
She  seized  upon  it  with  eagerness.  "  They  ain't  no 
use  o'  livin'  this  way,  anyway.  I'd  take  poison  if  it 
wa'n't  f'r  the  young  ones." 

"  Lucreeshy  Burns  !  " 

"  Oh,  I  mean  it." 

"  Land  sakes  alive,  I  b'lieve  you're  goin'  crazy  !  " 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  I  was.  I've  had  enough  t' 
drive  an  Indian  crazy.  Now  you  jest  go  off  an'  leave 
me  'lone.  I  ain't  no  mind  to  visit,  —  they  ain't  no  way 
out  of  it'  and  I'm  tired  o'  trying  to  find  a  way.  Go  off 
an'  let  me  be." 

Her  tone  was  so  bitterly  hopeless  that  the  great,  jolly 


Lucretia  Burns  99 

face  of  Mrs.  Councill  stiffened  into  a  look  of  horror 
such  as  she  had  not  known  for  years.  The  children,  in 
two  separate  groups,  could  be  heard  rioting.  Bees  were 
humming  around  the  clover  in  the  grass,  and  the  king 
bird  chattered  ceaselessly  from  the  Lombardy  poplar  tip. 
Both  women  felt  all  this  peace  and  beauty  of  the  morn 
ing  dimly,  and  it  disturbed  Mrs.  Councill  because  the 
other  was  so  impassive  under  it  all.  At  last,  after  a 
long  and  thoughtful  pause,  Mrs.  Councill  asked  a  ques 
tion  whose  answer  she  knew  would  decide  it  all  —  asked 
it  very  kindly  and  softly  :  — 

"  Creeshy,  are  you  comin'  in  ?  " 

"No,"  was  the  short  and  sullenly  decisive  answer. 
Mrs.  Councill  knew  that  was  the  end,  arid  so  rose  with 
a  sigh,  and  went  away. 

"  Wai,  good-by,"  she  said,  simply. 

Looking  back,  she  saw  Lucretia  lying  at  length,  with 
closed  eyes  and  hollow  cheeks.  She  seemed  to  be  sleep 
ing,  half  buried  in  the  grass.  She  did  not  look  up  nor 
reply  to  her  sister-in-law,  whose  life  was  one  of  toil  and 
trouble  also,  but  not  so  hard  and  helpless  as  Lucretia's. 
By  contrast  with  most  of  her  neighbors,  she  seemed 
comfortable. 

"  Sim  Burns,  what  you  ben  doin'  to  that  woman  ?  " 
she  burst  out,  as  she  waddled  up  to  where  the  two  men 
were  sitting  under  a  cottonwood  tree,  talking  and  whit 
tling  after  the  manner  of  farmers. 

"Nawthin'  's  fur  's  I  know,"  answered  Burns,  not 
quite  honestly,  and  looking  uneasy. 

"  You  needn't  try  t'  git  out  of  it  like  that,  Sim  Burns," 


ioo  Prairie  Folks 

replied  his  sister.  "  That  woman  never  got  into  that 
fit  f  r  nawthin'" 

"  Wai,  if  you  know  more  about  it  than  I  do,  whadgy 
ask  me  fur  ?  "  he  replied,  angrily. 

"  Tut,  tut !  "  put  in  Councill,  "  hold  y'r  horses ! 
Don't  git  on  y'r  ear,  children  !  Keep  cool,  and  don't 
spile  y'r  shirts.  Most  likely  you're  all  t'  blame.  Keep 
cool  an'  swear  less." 

"Wai,  I'll  bet  Sim's  more  to  blame  than  she  is. 
Why,  they  ain't  a  harder-workin'  woman  in  the  hull 
State  of  loway  than  she  is  —  " 

"  Except  Marm  Councill." 

"  Except  nobody.     Look  at  her,  jest  skin  and  bones." 

Councill  chuckled  in  his  vast  way.  "  That's  so, 
mother;  measured  in  that  way,  she  leads  over  you. 
You  git  fat  on  it." 

She  smiled  a  little,  her  indignation  oozing  away. 
She  never  "  could  stay  mad,"  her  children  were  accus 
tomed  to  tell  her.  Burns  refused  to  talk  any  more  about 
the  matter,  and  the  visitors  gave  it  up,  and  got  out  their 
team  and  started  for  home,  Mrs.  Councill  firing  this 
parting  shot :  — 

"  The  best  thing  you  can  do  to-day  is  t'  let  her 
alone.  Mebbe  the  children  '11  bring  her  round  ag'in. 
If  she  does  come  round,  you  see  't  you  treat  her  a 
little  more  's  y'  did  when  you  was  a-courtin'  her." 

"This  way,"  roared  Councill,  putting  his  arm 
around  his  wife's  waist.  She  boxed  his  ears,  while  he 
guffawed  and  clucked  at  his  team. 

Burns  took  a  measure  of  salt   and  went  out  into  the 


Lucretia  Burns 


LGL 


pasture  to  salt  the  cows.  On  the  sunlit  slope  of  the 
field,  where  the  cattle  came  running  and  bawling  to 
meet  him,  he  threw  down  the  salt  in  handfuls,  and 
then  lay  down  to  watch  them  as  they  eagerly  licked 
it  up,  even  gnawing  a  bare  spot  in  the  sod  in  their 
eagerness  to  get  it  all. 

Burns  was  not  a  drinking  man ;  he  was  hard-work 
ing,  frugal ;  in  fact,  he  had  no  extravagances  except 
his  tobacco.  His  clothes  he  wore  until  they  all  but 
dropped  from  him ;  and  he  worked  in  rain  and  mud, 
as  well  as  dust  and  sun.  It  was  this  suffering  and 
toiling  all  to  no  purpose  that  made  him  sour  and 
irritable.  He  didn't  see  why  he  should  have  so  little 
after  so  much  hard  work. 

He  was  puzzled  to  account  for  it  all.  His  mind 
—  the  average  mind  —  was  weary  with  trying  to  solve 
an  insoluble  problem.  His  neighbors,  who  had  got 
along  a  little  better  than  himself,  were  free  with  advice 
and  suggestion  as  to  the  cause  of  his  persistent  poverty. 

Old  man  Bacon,  the  hardest-working  man  in  the 
county,  laid  it  to  Burns's  lack  of  management.  Jim 
Butler,  who  owned  a  dozen  farms  (which  he  had  taken 
on  mortgages),  and  who  had  got  rich  by  buying  land 
at  government  price  and  holding  for  a  rise,  laid  all 
such  cases  as  Burns's  to  "lack  of  enterprise,  foresight." 

But  the  larger  number,  feeling  themselves  in  the 
same  boat  with  Burns,  said  :  — 

"  I  d'  know.  Seems  as  if  things  get  worse  an*  worse. 
Corn  an'  wheat  gittin'  cheaper  'n'  cheaper.  Machinery 
eatin'  up  profits  —  got  to  have  machinery  to  harvest 


i'O2  Prairie  Folks 

the  cheap  grain,  an*  then  the  machinery  eats  up  profits. 
Taxes  goin'  up.  Devil  to  pay  all  round ;  I  d'  know 
what  in  thunder  is  the  matter." 

The  Democrats  said  protection  was  killing  the 
farmers ;  the  Republicans  said  no.  The  Grangers 
growled  about  the  middle-men  ;  the  Greenbackers  said 
there  wasn't  circulating  medium  enough,  and,  in  the 
midst  of  it  all,  hard-working,  discouraged  farmers,  like 
Simeon  Burns,  worked  on,  unable  to  find  out  what 
really  was  the  matter. 

And  there,  on  this  beautiful  Sabbath  morning,  Sim 
sat  and  thought  and  thought,  till  he  rose  with  an  oath 
and  gave  it  up. 

IV 

IT  was  hot  and  brilliant  again  the  next  morning  as 
Douglas  Radbourn  drove  up  the  road  with  Lily  Gra 
ham,  the  teacher  of  the  school  in  the  little  white 
schoolhouse.  It  was  blazing  hot,  even  though  not 
yet  nine  o'clock,  and  the  young  farmers  ploughing  be 
side  the  fence  looked  longingly  and  somewhat  bitterly 
at  Radbourn  seated  in  a  fine  top-buggy  beside  a  beauti 
ful  creature  in  lace  and  cambric. 

Very  beautiful  the  town-bred  "  schoolma'am  "  looked 
to  those  grimy,  sweaty  fellows,  superb  fellows  too, 
physically,  with  bare  red  arms  and  leather-colored  faces. 
She  was  as  if  builded  of  the  pink  and  white  clouds 
soaring  far  up  there  in  the  morning  sky.  So  cool, 
and  sweet,  and  dainty. 

As  she  came  in  sight,  their   dusty  and  sweaty  shirts 


Lucretia  Burns  103 

grew  biting  as  the  poisoned  shirt  of  the  Norse  myth, 
their  bare  feet  in  the  brown  dirt  grew  distressingly  flat 
and  hoof-like,  and  their  huge,  dirty,  brown,  chapped 
and  swollen  hands  grew  so  repulsive  that  the  mere 
remote  possibility  of  some  time  in  the  far  future  standing 
a  chance  of  having  an  introduction  to  her,  caused  them 
to  wipe  their  palms  on  their  trousers'  legs  stealthily. 

Lycurgus  Banks  swore  when  he  saw  Radbourn : 
"  That  cuss  thinks  he's  oP  hell  this  morning.  He 
don't  earn  his  living.  But  he's  just  the  kind  of  cuss 
to  get  holt  of  all  the  purty  girls." 

Others  gazed  with  simple,  sad  wistfulness  upon 
the  slender  figure,  pale,  sweet  face,  and  dark  eyes  of 
the  young  girl,  feeling  that  to  have  talk  with  such  a 
fairylike  creature  was  a  happiness  too  great  to  ever 
be  their  lot.  And  when  she  had  passed  they  went 
back  to  work  with  a  sigh  and  feeling  of  loss. 

As  for  Lily,  she  felt  a  pang  of  pity  for  these  people. 
She  looked  at  this  peculiar  form  of  poverty  and  hard 
ship  much  as  the  fragile,  tender  girl  of  the  city  looks 
upon  the  men  laying  a  gas-main  in  the  streets.  She 
felt,  sympathetically,  the  heat  and  grime,  and,  though 
but  the  faintest  idea  of  what  it  meant  to  wear  such 
clothing  came  to  her,  she  shuddered.  Her  eyes  had 
been  opened  to  these  things  by  Radbourn,  a  classmate 
at  the  Seminary. 

The  young  fellow  knew  that  Lily  was  in  love  with 
him,  and  made  distinct  effort  to  keep  the  talk  upon 
impersonal  subjects.  He  liked  her  very  much,  prob 
ably  because  she  listened  so  well. 


IO4  Prairie  Folks 

"Poor  fellows,"  sighed  Lily,  almost  unconsciously, 
u  I  hate  to  see  them  working  there  in  the  dirt  and 
hot  sun.  It  seems  a  hopeless  sort  of  life,  doesn't  it?" 

"  Oh,  but  this  is  the  most  beautiful  part  of  the  year," 
said  Radbourn.  "  Think  of  them  in  the  mud,  in  the 
sleet ;  think  of  them  husking  corn  in  the  snow,  a  bitter 
wind  blowing ;  think  of  them  a  month  later  in  the  har 
vest  ;  think  of  them  imprisoned  here  in  winter  !  " 

"  Yes,  it's  dreadful !  But  I  never  felt  it  so  keenly 
before.  You  have  opened  my  eyes  to  it.  Of  course, 
I've  been  on  a  farm,  but  not  to  live  there." 

u  Writers  and  orators  have  lied  so  long  about  '  the 
idyllic '  in  farm  life,  and  said  so  much  about  the  c  inde 
pendent  American  farmer,'  that  he  himself  has  remained 
blind  to  the  fact  that  he's  one  of  the  hardest-working 
and  poorest-paid  men  in  America.  See  the  houses  they 
live  in,  —  hovels." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  know,"  said  Lily ;  a  look  of  deeper  pain 
swept  over  her  face.  "  And  the  fate  of  the  poor  women  ; 
oh,  the  fate  of  the  women  !  " 

"  Yes,  it's  a  matter  of  statistics,"  went  on  Radbourn, 
pitilessly,  "  that  the  wives  of  the  American  farmers  fill 
our  insane  asylums.  See  what  a  life  they  lead,  most  of 
them ;  no  music,  no  books.  Seventeen  hours  a  day  in 
a  couple  of  small  rooms  —  dens.  Now  there  is  Sim 
Burns !  What  a  travesty  of  a  home  !  Yet  there  are  a 
dozen  just  as  bad  in  sight.  He  works  like  a  fiend  —  so 
does  his  wife  —  and  what  is  their  reward?  Simply  a 
hole  to  hibernate  in  and  to  sleep  and  eat  in  in  summer. 
A  dreary  present  and  a  well-nigh  hopeless  future.  No, 


Lucretia  Burns  105 

they  have  a  future,  if  they  knew  it,  and  we  must  tell 
them." 

"  I  know  Mrs.  Burns,"  Lily  said,  after  a  pause  ;  "  she 
sends  several  children  to  my  school.  Poor,  pathetic  little 
things,  half-clad  and  wistful-eyed.  They  make  my  heart 
ache  ;  they  are  so  hungry  for  love,  and  so  quick  to  learn." 

As  they  passed  the  Burns  farm,  they*  looked  for  the 
wife,  but  she  was  not  to  be  seen.  The  children  had 
evidently  gone  up  to  the  little  white  schoolhouse  at  the 
head  of  the  lane.  Radbourn  let  the  reins  fall  slack  as 
he  talked  on.  He  did  not  look  at  the  girl ;  his  eyebrows 
were  drawn  into  a  look  of  gloomy  pain. 

"It  isn't  so  much  the  grime  that  I  abhor,  nor  the 
labor  that  crooks  their  backs  and  makes  their  hands 
bludgeons.  It's  the  horrible  waste  of  life  involved  in  it 
all.  I  don't  believe  God  intended  a  man  to  be  bent  to 
plough-handles  like  that,  but  that  isn't  the  worst  of  it. 
The  worst  of  it  is,  these  people  live  lives  approaching 
automata.  They  become  machines  to  serve  others  more 
lucky  or  more  unscrupulous  than  themselves.  What  is 
the  world  of  art,  of  music,  of  literature,  to  these  poor 
devils,  —  to  Sim  Burns  and  his  wife  there,  for  example  ? 
Or  even  to  the  best  of  these  farmers  ?  " 

The  girl  looked  away  over  the  shimmering  lake  of 
yellow-green  corn.  A  choking  came  into  her  throat. 
Her  gloved  hand  trembled. 

"  What  is  such  a  life  worth  ?  It's  all  very  comfort 
able  for  us  to  say,  '  They  don't  feel  it.'  How  do  we 
know  what  they  feel  ?  What  do  we  know  of  their 
capacity  for  enjoyment  of  art  and  music  ?  They 


io6  Prairie  Folks 

never  have  leisure  or  opportunity.  The  master  is  very 
glad  to  be  taught  by  preacher,  and  lawyer,  and  novel 
ist,  that  his  slaves  are  contented  and  never  feel  any  long 
ings  for  a  higher  life.  These  people  live  lives  but  little 
higher  than  their  cattle  —  are  forced  to  live  so.  Their 
hopes  and  aspirations  are  crushed  out,  their  souls  are 
twisted  and  deformed  just  as  toil  twists  and  deforms 
their  bodies.  They  are  on  the  same  level  as  the  city 
laborer.  The  very  religion  they  hear  is  a  soporific. 
They  are  taught  to  be  content  here  that  they  may  be 
happy  hereafter.  Suppose  there  isn't  any  hereafter  ?  " 

"  Oh,  don't  say  that,  please  !  "  Lily  cried. 

"  But  I  don't  know  that  there  is,"  he  went  on  remorse 
lessly,  "  and  I  do  know  that  these  people  are  being 
robbed  of  something  more  than  money,  of  all  that  makes 
life  worth  living.  The  promise  of  milk  and  honey  in 
Canaan  is  all  very  well,  but  I  prefer  to  have  mine  here ; 
then  I'm  sure  of  it." 

"What  can  we  do  ?  "  murmured  the  girl. 

"  Do  ?  Rouse  these  people  for  one  thing  ;  preach 
discontent,  a  noble  discontent." 

"  It  will  only  make  them  unhappy." 

"  No,  it  won't ;  not  if  you  show  them  the  way  out. 
If  it  does,  it's  better  to  be  unhappy  striving  for  higher 
things,  like  a  man,  than  to  be  content  in  a  wallow  like 
swine." 

"  But  what  is  the  way  out  ?  " 

This  was  sufficient  to  set  Radbourn  upon  his  hobby 
horse.  He  outlined  his  plan  of  action:  the  abolition 
of  all  indirect  taxes,  the  State  control  of  all  privileges 


Lucretia  Burns  107 

the  private  ownership  of  which  interfered  with  the  equal 
rights    of   all.       He   would    utterly   destroy   speculative 
holdings  of  the  earth.      He  would  have  land  everywhere 
brought  to  its  best  use,  by  appropriating  all  ground  rents 
to  the  use  of  the  state,  etc.,  etc.,  to  which  the  girl  lis-  | 
tened  with  eager  interest,  but  with  only  partial  compre-  / 
hension. 

As  they  neared  the  little  schoolhouse,  a  swarm  of 
midgets  in  pink  dresses,  pink  sun-bonnets,  and  brown 
legs,  came  rushing  to  meet  their  teacher,  with  that  pecul 
iar  devotion  the  children  in  the  country  develop  for  a 
refined  teacher. 

Radbourn  helped  Lily  out  into  the  midst  of  the  eager 
little  scholars,  who  swarmed  upon  her  like  bees  on  a 
lump  of  sugar,  till  even  Radbourn's  gravity  gave  way, 
and  he  smiled  into  her  lifted  eyes,  —  an  unusual  smile, 
that  strangely  enough  stopped  the  smile  on  her  own  lips, 
filling  her  face  with  a  wistful  shadow,  and  her  breath 
came  hard  for  a  moment,  and  she  trembled. 

She  loved  that  cold,  stern  face,  oh,  so  much !  and  to 
have  him  smile  was  a  pleasure  that  made  her  heart  leap 
till  she  suffered  a  smothering  pain.  She  turned  to  him 
to  say :  — 

"  I  am  very  thankful,  Mr.  Radbourn,  for  another 
pleasant  ride,"  adding  in  a  k>wer  tone,  "  it  was  a  very 
great  pleasure ;  you  always  give  me  so  much.  I  feel 
stronger  and  more  hopeful." 

"  I'm  glad  you  feel  so.  I  was  afraid  I  was  prosy 
with  my  land  doctrine." 

"  Oh,  no  !     Indeed  no  !     You  have  given  me  a  new 


io8  Prairie  Folks 

hope ;  I  am  exalted  with  the  thought ;  I  shall  try  to 
think  it  all  out  and  apply  it." 

And  so  they  parted,  the  children  looking  on  and 
slyly  whispering  among  themselves.  Radbourn  looked 
back  after  a  while,  but  the  bare  white  hive  had  absorbed 
its  little  group,  and  was  standing  bleak  as  a  tombstone 
and  hot  as  a  furnace  on  the  naked  plain  in  the  blazing 
sun. 

"  America's  pitiful  boast !  "  said  the  young  radical, 
looking  back  at  it.  "  Only  a  miserable  hint  of  what  it 
might  be." 

All  that  forenoon,  as  Lily  faced  her  noisy  group  of 
barefooted  children,  she  was  thinking  of  Radbourn,  of 
his  almost  fierce  sympathy  for  these  poor,  supine  farm 
ers,  hopeless  and  in  some  cases  content  in  their  narrow 
lives.  The  children  almost  worshipped  the  beautiful 
girl  who  came  to  them  as  a  revelation  of  exquisite  neat 
ness  and  taste,  —  whose  very  voice  and  intonation  awed 
them. 

They  noted,  unconsciously  of  course,  every  detail. 
Snowy  linen,  touches  of  soft  color,  graceful  lines  of  bust 
and  side,  the  slender  fingers  that  could  almost  speak, 
so  beautifully  flexile  were  they.  Lily  herself  sometimes, 
when  she  shook  the  calloused,  knotted,  stiffened  hands 
of  the  women,  shuddered  with  sympathetic  pain  to 
think  that  the  crowning  wonder  and  beauty  of  God's 
world  should  be  so  maimed  and  distorted  from  its  true 
purpose. 

Even  in  the  children  before  her  she  could  see  the  in 
herited  results  of  fruitless  labor,  and,  more  pitiful  yet, 


Lucretia  Burns  109 

in  the  bent  shoulders  of  the  older  ones  she  could  see  the 
beginnings  of  deformity  that  would  soon  be  permanent ; 
and  as  these  thoughts  came  to  her,  she  clasped  the 
wondering  children  to  her  side,  with  a  convulsive  wish 
to  make  life  a  little  brighter  for  them. 

"  How  is  your  mother  to-day  ?  "  she  asked  of  Sadie 
Burns,  as  she  was  eating  her  luncheon  on  the  drab- 
colored  table  near  the  open  window. 

"  Purty  well,"  said  Sadie,  in  a  hesitating  way. 

Lily  was  looking  out,  and  listening  to  the  gophers 
whistling  as  they  raced  to  and  fro.  She  could  see  Bob 
Burns  lying  at  length  on  the  grass  in  the  pasture  over 
the  fence,  his  heels  waving  in  the  air,  his  hands  holding 
a  string  which  formed  a  snare.  It  was  like  fishing  to 
young  Izaak  Walton. 

It  was  very  still  and  hot,  and  the  cheep  and  trill  of 
the  gophers  and  the  chatter  of  the  kingbirds  alone  broke 
the  silence.  A  cloud  of  butterflies  were  fluttering  about 
a  pool  near  ;  a  couple  of  big  flies  buzzed  and  mumbled 
on  the  pane. 

"  What  ails  your  mother  ?  "  Lily  asked,  recovering  her 
self  and  looking  at  Sadie,  who  was  distinctly  ill  at  ease. 

"  Oh,  I  dunno,"  Sadie  replied,  putting  one  bare  foot 
across  the  other. 

Lily  insisted. 

u  She  'n'  pa's  had  an  awful  row —  " 

"  Sadie  !  "  said  the  teacher,  warningly,  "  what  lan 
guage  !  " 

"  I  mean  they  quarrelled,  an'  she  don't  speak  to  him 
any  more." 


no  Prairie  Folks 

"  Why,  how  dreadful !  " 

"  An'  pa,  he's  awful  cross  ;  and  she  won't  eat  when 
he  does,  an'  I  haf  to  wait  on  table." 

"  I  believe  I'll  go  down  and  see  her  this  noon,"  said 
Lily  to  herself,  as  she  divined  a  little  of  the  state  of 
affairs  in  the  Burns  family. 


SIM  was  mending  the  pasture  fence  as  Lily  came 
down  the  road  toward  him.  He  had  delayed  going  to 
dinner  to  finish  his  task,  and  was  just  about  ready  to  go 
when  Lily  spoke  to  him. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Burns.  I  am  just  going  down 
to  see  Mrs.  Burns.  It  must  be  time  to  go  to  dinner,  — 
aren't  you  ready  to  go  ?  I  want  to  talk  with  you." 

Ordinarily  he  would  have  been  delighted  with  the 
idea  of  walking  down  the  road  with  the  schoolma'am, 
but  there  was  something  in  her  look  which  seemed  to 
tell  him  that  she  knew  all  about  his  trouble,  and,  be 
sides,  he  was  not  in  good  humor. 

"  Yes,  in  a  minnit  —  soon's  I  fix  up  this  hole. 
Them  shotes,  I  b'lieve,  would  go  through  a  keyhole,  if 
they  could  once  get  their  snoots  in." 

He  expanded  on  this  idea  as  he  nailed  away,  anxious 
to  gain  time.  He  foresaw  trouble  for  himself.  He 
couldn't  be  rude  to  this  sweet  and  fragile  girl.  If  a 
man  had  dared  to  attack  him  on  his  domestic  short 
comings,  he  could  have  fought.  The  girl  stood  waiting 
for  him,  her  large,  steady  eyes  full  of  thought,  gaz- 


Lucretia  Burns  1 1 1 

ing  down  at  him  from  the  shadow  of  her  broad-brimmed 
hat. 

"  The  world  is  so  fulJ  of  misery  anyway,  that  we 
ought  to  do  the  best  we  can  to  make  it  less,"  she  said  at 
last,  in  a  musing  tone,  as  if  her  thoughts  had  uncon 
sciously  taken  on  speech.  She  had  always  appealed  to 
him  strongly,  and  never  more  so  than  in  this  softly 
uttered  abstraction  —  that  it  was  an  abstraction  added 
to  its  power  with  him. 

He  could  find  no  words  for  reply,  but  picked  up  his 
hammer  and  nail-box,  and  slouched  along  the  road  by 
her  side,  listening  without  a  word  to  her  talk. 

"  Christ  was  patient,  and  bore  with  his  enemies. 
Surely  we  ought  to  bear  with  our  —  friends,"  she  went 
on,  adapting  her  steps  to  his.  He  took  off  his  torn 
straw  hat  and  wiped  his  face  on  his  sleeve,  being  much 
embarrassed  and  ashamed.  Not  knowing  how  to  meet 
such  argument,  he  kept  silent. 

"  How  is  Mrs.  Burns  !  "  said  Lily  at  length,  deter 
mined  to  make  him  speak.  The  delicate  meaning  in 
the  emphasis  laid  on  is  did  not  escape  him. 

"Oh,  she's  all  right  —  I  mean  she's  done  her  work 
jest  the  same  as  ever.  I  don't  see  her  much  — " 

"  I  didn't  know  —  I  was  afraid  she  was  sick.  Sadie 
said  she  was  acting  strangely." 

"  No,  she's  well  enough  —  but  —  " 

u  But  what  is  the  trouble  ?  Won't  you  let  me  help 
you,  won't  you  ?  "  she  pleaded. 

"  Can't  anybody  help  us.  We've  got  'o  fight  it  out, 
I  s'pose,"  he  replied,  a  gloomy  note  of  resentment  creep- 


H2  Prairie  Folks 

ing  into  his  voice.  "  She's  ben  in  a  devil  of  a  temper 
Pr  a  week." 

"  Haven't  you  been  in  the  same  kind  of  a  temper 
too  ? "  demanded  Lily,  firmly  but  kindly.  "  I  think 
most  troubles  of  this  kind  come  from  bad  temper  on 
both  sides.  Don't  you  ?  Have  you  done  your  share 
at  being  kind  and  patient  ?  " 

They  had  reached  the  gate  now,  and  she  laid  her 
hand  on  his  arm  to  stop  him.  He  looked  down  at  the 
slender  gloved  hand  on  his  arm,  feeling  as  if  a  giant  had 
grasped  him ;  then  he  raised  his  eyes  to  her  face,  flush 
ing  a  purplish  red  as  he  remembered  his  grossness.  It 
seemed  monstrous  in  the  presence  of  this  girl-advocate. 
Her  face  was  like  silver ;  her  eyes  seemed  pools  of  tears. 

"  I  don't  s'pose  I  have,"  he  said  at  last,  pushing  by 
her.  He  could  not  have  faced  her  glance  another 
moment.  His  whole  air  conveyed  the  impression  of 
destructive  admission.  Lily  did  not  comprehend  the 
extent  of  her  advantage  or  she  would  have  pursued  it 
further.  As  it  was  she  felt  a  little  hurt  as  she  entered 
the  house.  The  table  was  set,  but  Mrs.  Burns  was 
nowhere  to  be  seen.  Calling  her  softly,  the  young  girl 
passed  through  the  shabby  little  living-room  to  the  oven- 
like  bedroom  which  opened  off  it,  but  no  one  was 
about.  She  stood  for  a  moment  shuddering  at  the 
wretchedness  of  the  room. 

Going  back  to  the  kitchen,  she  found  Sim  about 
beginning  on  his  dinner.  Little  Pet  was  with  him ;  the 
rest  of  the  children  were  at  the  schoolhouse. 

"  Where  is  she  ?  " 


Lucretia  Burns  113 

"I  d'  know.  Out  in  the  garden,  I  expect.  She 
don't  eat  with  me  now.  I  never  see  her.  She  don't 
come  near  me.  I  ain't  seen  her  since  Saturday." 

Lily  was  shocked  inexpressibly  and  began  to  see  more 
clearly  the  magnitude  of  the  task  she  had  set  herself  to 
do.  But  it  must  be  done ;  she  felt  that  a  tragedy  was 
not  far  off.  It  must  be  averted. 

u  Mr.  Burns,  what  have  you  done  ?  What  have  you 
done  ?  "  she  asked  in  terror  and  horror. 

"  Don't  lay  it  all  to  me  !  She  hain't  done  nawthin' 
but  complain  f'r  ten  years.  I  couldn't  do  nothin'  to 
suit  her.  She  was  always  naggin'  me." 

"  I  don't  think  Lucretia  Burns  would  nag  anybody. 
I  don't  say  you're  all  to  blame,  but  I'm  afraid  you 
haven't  acknowledged  you  were  any  to  blame.  I'm 
afraid  you've  not  been  patient  with  her.  I'm  going  out 
to  bring  her  in.  If  she  comes,  will  you  say  you  were 
part  to  blame  ?  You  needn't  beg  her  pardon — just  say 
you'll  try  to  be  better.  Will  you  do  it  ?  Think  how 
much  she  has  done  for  you  !  Will  you  ?  " 

He  remained  silent,  and  looked  discouragingly  rude. 
His  sweaty,  dirty  shirt  was  open  at  the  neck,  his  arms 
were  bare,  his  scraggly  teeth  were  yellow  with  tobacco, 
and  his  uncombed  hair  lay  tumbled  about  on  his  high, 
narrow  head.  His  clumsy,  unsteady  hands  played  with 
the  dishes  on  the  table.  His  pride  was  struggling  with 
his  sense  of  justice ;  he  knew  he  ought  to  consent,  and 
yet  it  was  so  hard  to  acknowledge  himself  to  blame. 
The  girl  went  on  in  a  voice  piercingly  sweet,  trembling 
with  pity  and  pleading. 


H4  Prairie  Folks 

u  What  word  can  I  carry  to  her  from  you  ?  I'm 
going  to  go  and  see  her.  If  I  could  take  a  word  from 
you,  I  know  she  would  come  back  to  the  table.  Shall  I 
tell  her  you  feel  to  blame  ?  " 

The  answer  was  a  long  time  coming  \  at  last  the  man 
nodded  an  assent,  the  sweat  pouring  from  his  purple 
face.  She  had  set  him  thinking ;  her  victory  was  sure. 

Lily  almost  ran  out  into  the  garden  and  to  the  straw 
berry  patch,  where  she  found  Lucretia  in  her  familiar, 
colorless,  shapeless  dress,  picking  berries  in  the  hot  sun, 
the  mosquitoes  biting  her  neck  and  hands. 

u  Poor,  pathetic,  dumb  sufferer  !  "  the  girl  thought  as 
she  ran  up  to  her. 

She  dropped  her  dish  as  she  heard  Lily  coming,  and 
gazed  up  into  the  tender,  pitying  face.  Not  a  word  was 
spoken,  but  something  she  saw  there  made  her  eyes  fill 
with  tears,  and  her  throat  swell.  It  was  pure  sympathy. 
She  put  her  arms  around  the  girl's  neck  and  sobbed  for 
the  first  time  since  Friday  night.  Then  they  sat  down 
on  the  grass  under  the  hedge,  and  she  told  her  story, 
interspersed  with  Lily's  horrified  comments. 

When  it  was  all  told,  the  girl  still  sat  listening.  She 
heard  Radbourn's  calm,  slow  voice  again.  It  helped 
her  not  to  hate  Burns ;  it  helped  her  to  pity  and  under 
stand  him. 

u  You  must  remember  that  such  toil  brutalizes  a  man ; 
it  makes  him  callous,  selfish,  unfeeling,  necessarily.  A 
fine  nature  must  either  adapt  itself  to  its  hard  surround 
ings  or  die.  Men  who  toil  terribly  in  filthy  garments 
day  after  day  and  year  after  year  cannot  easily  keep 


Lucretia  Burns  115 

gentle;  the  frost  and  grime,  the  heat  and  cold,  will 
soon  or  late  enter  into  their  souls.  The  case  is  not  all 
in  favor  of  the  suffering  wives  and  against  the  brutal 
husbands.  If  the  farmer's  wife  is  dulled  and  crazed  by  her 
routine,  the  farmer  himself  is  degraded  and  brutalized." 

As  well  as  she  could  Lily  explained  all  this  to  the 
woman,  who  lay  with  her  face  buried  in  the  girl's  lap. 
Lily's  arms  were  about  her  thin  shoulders  in  an  agony 
of  pity. 

"  It's  hard,  Lucretia,  I  know,  —  more  than  you  can 
bear,  —  but  you  mustn't  forget  what  Sim  endures  too. 
He  goes  out  in  the  storms  and  in  the  heat  and  dust. 
His  boots  are  hard,  and  see  how  his  hands  are  all  bruised 
and  broken  by  his  work !  He  was  tired  and  hungry 
when  he  said  that  —  he  didn't  really  mean  it." 

The  wife  remained  silent. 

"  Mr.  Radbourn  says  work,  as  things  go  now,  does 
degrade  a  man  in  spite  of  himself.  He  says  men  get 
coarse  and  violent  in  spite  of  themselves,  just  as  women 
do  when  everything  goes  wrong  in  the  house,  —  when 
the  flies  are  thick,  and  the  fire  won't  burn,  and  the  irons 
stick  to  the  clothes.  You  see,  you  both  suffer.  Don't 
lay  up  this  fit  of  temper  against  Sim  —  will  you  ?  " 

The  wife  lifted  her  head  and  looked  away.  Her  face 
was  full  of  hopeless  weariness. 

"  It  ain't  this  once.  It  ain't  that  't  all.  It's  having 
no  let-up.  Just  goin'  the  same  thing  right  over  'n'  over 
—  no  hope  of  anything  better." 

"  If  you  had  hope  of  another  world  —  " 

"  Don't  talk  that.     I  don't  want  that  kind  o'  comfert. 


n6  Prairie  Folks 

I  want  a  decent  chance  here.  I  want  'o  rest  an'  be 
happy  now"  Lily's  big  eyes  were  streaming  with  tears. 
What  should  she  say  to  the  desperate  woman  ?  u  What's 
the  use  ?  We  might  jest  as  well  die  —  all  of  us." 

The  woman's  livid  face  appalled  the  girl.  She  was 
gaunt,  heavy-eyed,  nerveless.  Her  faded  dress  settled 
down  over  her  limbs,  showing  the  swollen  knees  and 
thin  calves ;  her  hands,  with  distorted  joints,  protruded 
painfully  from  her  sleeves.  All  about  her  was  the  ever 
recurring  wealth  and  cheer  of  nature  that  knows  no 
favor,  —  the  bees  and  flies  buzzing  in  the  sun,  the 
jay  and  the  kingbird  in  the  poplars,  the  smell  of  straw 
berries,  the  motion  of  lush  grass,  the  shimmer  of  corn- 
blades  tossed  gayly  as  banners  in  a  conquering  army. 

Like  a  flash  of  keener  light,  a  sentence  shot  across 
the  girl's  mind :  "  Nature  knows  no  title-deed.  The 
bounty  of  her  mighty  hands  falls  as  the  sunlight  falls, 
copious,  impartial ;  her  seas  carry  all  ships  ;  her  air  is 
for  all  lips,  her  lands  for  all  feet." 

"  Poverty  and  suffering  such  as  yours  will  not  last." 
There  was  something  in  the  girl's  voice  that  roused  the 
woman.  She  turned  her  dull  eyes  upon  the  youthful 
face. 

Lily  took  her  hand  in  both  hers  as  if  by  a  caress  she 
could  impart  her  own  faith. 

"  Look  up,  dear.  When  nature  is  so  good  and  gener 
ous,  man  must  come  to  be  better,  surely.  Come,  go  in 
the  house  again.  Sim  is  there  ;  he  expects  you  ;  he  told 
me  to  tell  you  he  was  sorry."  Lucretia's  face  twitched 
a  little  at  that,  but  her  head  was  bent.  "  Come ;  you 


Lucretia  Burns  117 

can't  live   this  way.       There  isn't   any  other   place  to 
go  to." 

No,  that  was  the  bitterest  truth.  Where  on  this 
wide  earth,  with  its  forth-shooting  fruits  and  grains,  its 
fragrant  lands  and  shining  seas,  could  this  dwarfed,  bent, 
broken,  middle-aged  woman  go  ?  Nobody  wanted  her, 
nobody  cared  for  her.  But  the  wind  kissed  her  drawn 
lips  as  readily  as  those  of  the  girl,  and  the  blooms  of 
clover  nodded  to  her  as  if  to  a  queen. 

Lily  had  said  all  she  could.  Her  heart  ached  with 
unspeakable  pity  and  a  sort  of  terror. 

"  Don't  give  up,  Lucretia.  This  may  be  the  worst 
hour  of  your  life.  Live  and  bear  with  it  all  for  Christ's 
sake,  —  for  your  children's  sake.  Sim  told  me  to  tell  you 
he  was  to  blame.  If  you  will  only  see  that  you  are 
both  to  blame  and  yet  neither  to  blame,  then  you  can 
rise  above  it.  Try,  dear  !  " 

Something  that  was  in  the  girl  imparted  itself  to  the 
wife,  electrically.  She  pulled  herself  together,  rose 
silently,  and  started  toward  the  house.  Her  face  was 
rigid,  but  no  longer  sullen.  Lily  followed  her  slowly, 
wonderingly. 

As  she  neared  the  kitchen  door,  she  saw  Sim  still  sit 
ting  at  the  table ;  his  face  was  unusually  grave  and  soft. 
She  saw  him  start  and  shove  back  his  chair,  saw 
Lucretia  go  to  the  stove  and  lift  the  tea-pot,  and  heard 
her  say,  as  she  took  her  seat  beside  the  baby  :  — 

"  Want  some  more  tea  ?  " 

She  had  become  a  wife  and  mother  again,  but  in  what 
spirit  the  puzzled  girl  could  not  say. 


n8  Prairie  Folks 

LOGAN   AT   PEACH    TREE   CREEK 

A  VETERAN'S  STORY 

You  know  that  day  at  Peach  Tree  Creek, 
When  the  Rebs  with  their  circling,  scorching  wall 
Of  smoke-hid  cannon  and  sweep  of  flame 
Drove  in  our  flanks,  back  !   back  !   and  all 
Our  toil  seemed  lost  in  the  storm  of  shell  ?  — 
That  desperate  day  McPherson  fell ! 

Our  regiment  stood  in  a  little  glade 
Set  round  with  half-grown  red-oak  trees ; 
An  awful  place  to  stand,  in  full  fair  sight, 
While  the  minie  bullets  hummed  like  bees, 
And  comrades  dropped  on  either  side  — 
That  fearful  day  McPherson  died  ! 

The  roar  of  the  battle,  steady,  stern, 

Rung  in  our  ears.      Upon  our  eyes 

The  belching  cannon  smoke,  the  half-hid  swing 

Of  deploying  troops,  the  groans,  the  cries, 

The  hoarse  commands,  the  sickening  smell  — 

That  blood-red  day  McPherson  fell  ! 

But  we  stood  there,  —  when  out  from  the  trees, 
Out  of  the  smoke  and  dismay,  to  the  right 
Burst  a  rider,  —  his  head  was  bare,  his  eye 
Had  a  blaze  like  a  lion  fain  for  fight ; 
His  long  hair,  black  as  the  deepest  night, 
Streamed  out  on  the  wind.     And  the  might 
Of  his  plunging  horse  was  a  tale  to  tell, 


Logan  at  Peach  Tree  Creek  1 1 9 

And  his  voice  rang  high  like  a  bugle's  swell ; 
"  Men,  the  enemy  hem  us  on  every  side ; 
We'll  whip  'em  yet !     Close  up  that  breach  — 
Remember  your  flag  —  don't  give  an  inch  ! 
The  right  flank's  gaining  and  soon  will  reach  — 
Forward,  boys,  and  give  'em  hell !  " 
Said  Logan,  after  McPherson  fell. 

We  laughed  and  cheered  and  the  red  ground  shook, 
As  the  general  plunged  along  the  line 
Through  the  deadliest  rain  of  screaming  shells ; 
For  the  sound  of  his  voice  refreshed  us  all, 
And  we  filled  the  gap  like  a  roaring  tide, 
And  saved  the  day  McPherson  died  ! 

And  that  was  twenty  years  ago, 

And  part  of  a  horrible  dream  now  past. 

For  Logan,  the  lion,  the  drums  throb  low, 

And  the  flag  swings  low  on  the  mast. 

He  has  followed  his  mighty  chieftain  through 

The  mist-hung  stream,  where  gray  and  blue 

One  color  stands, 

And  North  to  South  extends  the  hand. 

It's  right  that  deeds  of  war  and  blood 

Should  be  forgot,  but,  spite  of  all, 

I  think  of  Logan  now,  as  he  rode 

That  day  across  the  field  ;  I  hear  the  call 

Of  his  trumpet  voice,  see  the  battle  shine 

In  his  stern,  black  eyes,  and  down  the  line 

Of  cheering  men,  I  see  him  ride, 

As  on  the  day  McPherson  died ! 


SOME   VILLAGE    CRONIES 


SOME   VILLAGE   CRONIES 

COLONEL  PEAVY  had  just  begun  the  rubber  with 
Squire  Gordon,  of  Cerro  Gordo  County.  They  were 
seated  in  Robie's  grocery,  behind  the  rusty  old  cannon 
stove,  the  checker-board  spread  out  on  their  knees. 
The  Colonel  was  grinning  in  great  glee,  wringing  his 
bony  yellow  hands  in  nervous  excitement,  in  strong 
contrast  to  the  stolid  calm  of  the  fat  Squire. 

The  Colonel  had  won  the  last  game  by  a  large 
margin,  and  was  sure  he  had  his  opponent's  dodges 
well  in  hand.  It  was  early  in  the  evening,  and  the 
grocery  was  comparatively  empty.  Robie  was  figuring 
at  a  desk,  and  old  Judge  Brown  stood  in  legal  gravity 
warming  his  legs  at  the  red-hot  stove,  and  swaying 
gently  back  and  forth  in  speechless  content.  It  was 
a  tough  night  outside,  one  of  the  toughest  for  years. 
The  frost  had  completely  shut  the  window-panes  as 
with  thick  blankets  of  snow.  The  streets  were  silent. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  Judge,  reflectively,  to 
Robie,  breaking  the  silence  in  his  rasping,  judicial 
bass,  "  I  don't  know  as  there  has  been  such  a  night 
as  this  since  the  night  of  February  2,  '59  ;  that  was 
the  night  James  Kirk  went  under  —  Honorable  Kirk, 
you  remember  —  knew  him  well.  Brilliant  fellow,  or 
nament  to  Western  bar.  But  whiskey  downed  him. 
It'll  beat  the  oldest  man  —  I  wonder  where  the  boys 

123 


124  Prairie  Folks 

all  are  to-night  ?  Don't  seem  to  be  any  one  stirring  on 
the  street.  Aren't  frightened  out  by  the  cold  ?  " 

"Shouldn't  wonder."  Robie  was  busy  at  his  desk, 
and  not  in  humor  for  conversation  on  reminiscent  lines. 
The  two  old  war  dogs  at  the  board  had  settled  down  to 
one  of  those  long,  silent  struggles  which  ensue  when 
two  champions  meet.  In  the  silence  which  followed, 
the  Judge  was  looking  attentively  at  the  back  of  the 
Colonel,  and  thinking  that  the  old  thief  was  getting 
about  down  to  skin  and  bone.  He  turned  with  a  yawn 
to  Robie,  saying  :  — 

"  This  cold  weather  must  take  hold  of  the  old 
Colonel  terribly,  he's  so  damnably  thin  and  bald,  you 
know,  —  bald  as  a  babe.  The  fact  is,  the  old  Colonel 
ain't  long  for  this  world,  anyway ;  think  so,  Hank  ?  " 
Robie  making  no  reply,  the  Judge  relapsed  into  silence 
for  a  while,  watching  the  cat  (  perilously  walking  along 
the  edge  of  the  upper  shelf)  and  listening  to  the  occa 
sional  hurrying  footsteps  outside.  cc  I  don't  know  when 
I've  seen  the  windows  closed  up  so,  Hank ;  go  down  to 
thirty  below  to-night ;  devilish  strong  wind  blowing, 
too ;  tough  night  on  the  prairies,  Hank." 

"  You  bet,"  replied  Hank,  briefly. 

The  Colonel  was  plainly  getting  excited.  His  razor- 
like  back  curved  sharper  than  ever  as  he  peered  into  the 
intricacies  of  the  board  to  spy  the  trap  which  the  fat 
Squire  had  set  for  him.  At  this  point  the  squeal  of 
boots  on  the  icy  walk  outside  paused,  and  a  moment 
later  Amos  Ridings  entered,  with  whiskers  covered  with 
ice,  and  looking  like  a  huge  bear  in  his  buffalo  coat. 


Some  Village  Cronies  125 

"  By  Josephus  !  it's  cold,"  he  roared,  as  he  took  off  his 
gloves  and  began  to  warm  his  face  and  hands  at  the  fire. 

"  Is  it  ?  "  asked  the  Judge,  comfortably,  rising  on  his 
tiptoes,  only  to  fall  back  into  his  usual  attitude  legal, 
legs  well  spread,  shoulders  thrown  back. 

"  You  bet  it  is!"  replied  Amos.  "I  d'  know  when 
I've  felt  the  cold  more'n  I  have  t'-day.  It's  jest  snifty ; 
doubles  me  up  like  a  jack-knife,  Judge.  How  do  you 
stand  it?" 

u  Toler'ble,  toler'ble,  Amos.  But  we're  agin',  we're 
'not  what  we  were  once.  Cold  takes  hold  of  us." 

"  That's  a  fact,"  answered  Amos  to  the  retrospective 
musings  of  the  Judge.  "  Time  was  you  an'  me  would 
go  t'  singing-school  or  sleigh-riding  with  the  girls  on  a 
night  like  this  and  never  notice  it." 

"Yes,  sir;  yes,  sir  !  "  said  the  Judge  with  a  sigh.  It 
was  a  little  uncertain  in  Robie's  mind  whether  the 
Judge  was  regretting  the  lost  ability  to  stand  the  cold, 
or  the  lost  pleasure  of  riding  with  the  girls. 

u  Great  days,  those,  gentlemen  !  Lived  in  Vermont 
then.  Hot-blooded  —  lungs  like  an  ox.  I  remember, 
Sallie  Dearborn  and  I  used  to  go  a-foot  to  singing-school 
down  the  valley  four  miles.  But  now,  wouldn't  go  rid 
ing  to-night  with  the  handsomest  woman  in  America, 
and  the  best  cutter  in  Rock  River." 

"  Oh  !  you've  got  both  feet  in  the  grave  up  t'  the 
ankles,  anyway,"  said  Robie,  from  his  desk;  but  the 
Judge  immovably  gazed  at  the  upper  shelf  on  the  other 
side  of  the  room,  where  the  boilers  and  pans  and  wash 
boards  were  stored. 


126  Prairie  Folks 

"  The  Judge  is  a  little  on  the  sentimental  order  to 
night,"  said  Amos. 

"  Hold  on,  Colonel !  hold  on.  You've  got  'o  jump. 
Hah  !  hah  !  "  roared  Gordon  from  the  checker-board. 
"  That's  right,  that's  right !  "  he  ended,  as  the  Colonel 
complied  reluctantly. 

"  Sock  it  to  the  old  cuss ! "  commented  Amos.  "What 
I  was  going  to  say,"  he  resumed,  rolling  down  the  collar 
of  his  coat,  "  was,  that  when  my  wife  helped  me  bundle 
up  tonight,  she  said  I  was  gitt'n'  t'  be  an  old  granny. 
We  are  agin',  Judge,  the's  no  denyin'  that.  We're 
both  gray  as  Norway  rats  now.  An'  speaking  of  us 
agin'  reminds  me  —  have  y'  noticed  how  bald  the  old 
Kyernel's  gitt'n'  ?  " 

"  I  have,  Amos,"  answered  the  Judge,  mournfully. 
"The  old  man's  head  is  showing  age,  showing  age  ! 
Getting  thin  up  there,  very  thin." 

The  old  Colonel  bent  to  his  work  with  studied  abstrac 
tion,  and  even  when  Amos  said,  judicially,  after  long 
scrutiny,  "  Yes,  he'll  soon  be  as  bald  as  a  plate,"  he  only 
lifted  one  yellow,  freckled,  bony  hand,  and  brushed  his 
carroty  growth  of  hair  across  the  spot  under  discussion. 
Gordon's  fat  paunch  shook  in  silent  laughter,  nearly 
displacing  the  board. 

"  I  was  just  telling  Robie,"  pursued  Brown,  still  re 
taining  his  reminiscent  intonation,  "that  this  storm  takes 
the  cake  over  anything  —  " 

At  this  point  Steve  Roach  and  another  fellow  entered. 
Steve  was  Ridings's  hired  hand,  a  herculean  fellow,  with  a 
drawl,  and  a  liability  for  taking  offence  quite  as  remarkable. 


Some  Village  Cronies  127 

"  Say  !  gents,  Fm  no  spring  rooster,  but  this  jest  gits 
away  with  anything  in  the  line  of  cold  7  ever  see." 

While  this  communication  was  being  received  in 
ruminative  silence,  Steve  was  holding  his  ears  in  his 
hand  and  gazing  at  the  intent  champions  at  the  board. 
There  they  sat ;  the  old  Squire  panting  and  wheezing  in 
his  excitement,  for  he  was  planning  a  great  "snap"  on 
the  Colonel,  whose  red  and  freckled  nose  almost  touched 
the  board.  It  was  a  solemn  battle  hour.  The  wind 
howled  mournfully  outside,  the  timbers  of  the  store 
creaked  in  the  cold,  and  the  huge  cannon  stove  roared 
in  steady  bass. 

"  Speaking  about  ears,"  said  Steve,  after  a  silence, 
"  dummed  if  I'd  like  t'  be  quite  s'  bare  'round  the  ears 
as  Kernel  there.  I  wonder  if  any  o'  you  fellers  has 
noticed  how  the  oP  feller's  lost  hair  this  last  summer. 
He's  gittin'  bald,  they's  no  coverin'  it  up,  —  gittin'  bald 
as  a  plate." 

"  You're  right,  Stephen,"  said  the  Judge,  as  he  gravely 
took  his  stand  behind  his  brother  advocate  and  studied, 
with  the  eye  of  an  adept,  the  field  of  battle.  "  We  were 
noticing  it  when  you  came  in.  It's  a  sad  thing,  but  it 
must  be  admitted." 

"  It's  the  Kyernel's  brains  wearin'  up  through  his 
hair,  I  take  it,"  commented  Amos,  as  he  helped  himself 
to  a  handful  of  peanuts  out  of  the  bag  behind  the 
counter.  "  Say,  Steve,  did  y'  stuff  up  that  hole  in  front 
of  ol'  Barney  ?  " 

A  shout  was  heard  outside,  and  then  a  rush  against 
the  door,  and  immediately  two  young  fellows  burst  in, 


128  Prairie  Folks 

followed  by  a  fierce  gust  of  snow.  One  was  Professor 
Knapp,  the  other  Editor  Foster,  of  the  Morning  Call. 

u  Well,  gents,  how's  this  for  high  ?  "  said  Foster,  in  a 
peculiar  tone  of  voice,  at  which  all  began  to  smile.  He 
was  a  slender  fellow  with  close-clipped,  assertive  red 
hair.  "  In  this  company  we  now  have  the  majesty  of 
the  law,  the  power  of  the  press,  and  the  underpinning 
of  the  American  civilization  all  represented.  Hello ! 
There  are  a  couple  of  old  roosters  with  their  heads 
together.  Gordon,  my  old  enemy,  how  are  you  ?  " 

Gordon  waved  him  off  with  a  smile  and  a  wheeze. 
"  Don't  bother  me  now.  I've  got  'im.  I'm  laying  f'r 
the  old  dog.  Whist  !  " 

"  Got  nothing  !  "  snarled  the  Colonel.  "  You  try 
that  on  if  you  want  to.  Just  swing  that  man  in  there 
if  you  think  it's  healthy  for  him.  Just  as  like  as  not, 
you'll  slip  up  on  that  little  trick." 

"  Ha  !  Say  you  so,  old  True  Penny  ?  The  Kunnel 
has  met  a  foeman  worthy  of  his  steel,"  said  Foster,  in 
great  glee,  as  he  bent  above  the  Colonel.  "  I  know. 
How  do  I  know,  quotha  ?  By  the  curve  on  the  Kun- 
nel's  back.  The  size  of  the  parabola  described  by  that 
backbone  accurately  gauges  his  adversary's  skill.  But, 
by  the  way,  gentlemen,  have  you  —  but  that's  a  nice 
point,  and  I  refer  all  nice  points  to  Professor  Knapp. 
Professor,  is  it  in  good  taste  to  make  remarks  concerning 
the  dress  or  features  of  another  ?  " 

u  Certainly  not,"  answered  Knapp,  a  handsome  young 
fellow  with  a  yellow  mustache. 

u  Not  when   the  person   is   an   esteemed  public  char- 


Some  Village  Cronies  129 

acter,  like  the  Colonel  here  ?  What  I  was  about  to 
remark,  if  it  had  been  proper,  was  that  the  old  fellow 
is  getting  wofully  bald  He'll  soon  be  bald  as  an  egg." 

u  Say  !  "  asked  the  Colonel,  "  I  want  to  know  how 
long  you're  going  to  keep  this  thing  up  ?  Somebody's 
dummed  sure  t'  get  hurt  soon." 

"  There,  there,  Colonel,"  said  Brown,  soothingly, 
"  don't  get  excited  ;  you'll  lose  the  rubber.  Don't 
mind  'em.  Keep  cool." 

u  Yes,  keep  cool,  Kunnel ;  it's  only  our  solicitude  for 
your  welfare,"  chipped  in  Foster.  Then,  addressing  the 
crowd  in  a  general  sort  of  way,  he  speculated  :  "  Curious 
how  a  man,  a  plain  American  citizen  like  Colonel 
Peavy,  wins  a  place  in  the  innermost  affections  of  a 
whole  people." 

u  That's  so  !  "  murmured  the  rest. 

"  He  can't  grow  bald  without  deep  sympathy  from  his 
fellow-citizens.  It  amounts  to  a  public  calamity." 

The  old  Colonel  glared  in  speechless  wrath. 

"Say,  gents,"  pleaded  Gordon,  "let  up  on  the  old 
man  for  the  present.  He's  going  to  need  all  of  himself 
if  he  gets  out  o'  the  trap  he's  in  now."  He  waved  his 
fat  hand  over  the  Colonel's  head,  and  smiled  blandly  at 
the  crowd  hugging  the  stove. 

u  My  head  may  be  bald,"  grated  the  old  man,  with  a 
death's-head  grin  indescribably  ferocious,  "  but  it's  got 
brains  enough  in  it  to  skunk  any  man  in  this  crowd 
three  games  out  o'  five." 

"  The  ol'  man  rather  gits  the  laugh  on  y'  there, 
gents,"  called  Robie  from  the  other  side  of  the  counter. 


130  Prairie  Folks 

"  I  hain't  seen  the  old  skeesix  play  better'n  he  did  last 
night,  in  years." 

"  Not  since  his  return  from  Canada,  after  the  war,  I 
reckon,"  said  Amos,  from  the  kerosene  barrel. 

"  Hold  on,  Amos,"  put  in  the  Judge,  warningly, 
"that's  outlawed.  Talking  about  being  bald  and  the 
war  reminds  me  of  the  night  Walters  and  I  —  by  the 
way,  where  is  Walters  to-night  ?  " 

"  Sick,"  put  in  the  Colonel,  straightening  up  exult 
antly.  "  I  waxed  him  three  straight  games  last  night. 
You  won't  see  him  again  till  spring.  Skunked  him 
once,  and  beat  him  twice." 

"  Oh,  git  out." 

"  Hear  the  old  seed  twitter  !  " 

"Did  you  ever  notice,  gentlemen,  how  lying  and 
baldness  go  together  ?  "  queried  Foster,  reflectively. 

"No!     Do  they?" 

"  Invariably.  I've  known  many  colossal  liars,  and 
they  were  all  as  bald  as  apples." 

The  Colonel  was  getting  nervous,  and  was  so  slow 
that  even  Gordon  (who  could  sit  and  stare  at  the  board 
a  full  half-hour  without  moving)  began  to  be  impatient. 

"  Come,  Colonel,  marshal  your  forces  a  little  more 
promptly.  If  you're  going  at  me  echelon,  sound  y'r 
bugle;  I'm  ready." 

"  Don't  worry,"  answered  the  Colonel,  in  his  calmest 
nasal.  "I'll  accommodate  you  with  all  the  fight  you 
want." 

"  Did  it  ever  occur  to  you,"  began  the  Judge  again, 
addressing  the  crowd  generally,  as  he  moved  back  to 


Some  Village  Cronies  131 

the  stove  and  lit  another  cigar,  "  did  it  ever  occur  to 
you  that  it  is  a  little  singular  a  man  should  get  bald  on 
the  top  of  his  head  first  ?  Curious  fact.  So  accustomed 
to  it  we  no  longer  wonder  at  it.  Now  see  the  Colonel 
there ;  quite  a  growth  of  hair  on  his  clapboarding,  as  it 
were,  but  devilish  thin  on  his  roof." 

Here  the  Colonel  looked  up  and  tried  to  say  some 
thing,  but  the  Judge  went  on  imperturbably  :  — 

"  Now,  I  take  it  that  it's  strictly  providential  that  a 
man  gets  bald  on  top  of  his  head  first,  because  if  he 
must  get  bald,  it  is  best  to  get  bald  where  it  can  be 
covered  up." 

"  By  jinks,  that's  a  fact ! "  said  Foster,  in  high  ad 
miration  of  the  Judge's  ratiocination.  Steve  was  spe 
cially  pleased,  and,  drawing  a  neck-yoke  from  a  barrel 
standing  near,  pounded  the  floor  vigorously. 

"  Talking  about  being  bald,"  put  in  Foster,  "  reminds 
me  of  a  scheme  of  mine,  which  is  to  send  no  one  out 
to  fight  Indians  but  bald  men.  Think  how  powerless 
they'd  be  in  —  " 

The  talk  now  drifted  off  to  Indians,  politics,  and 
religion,  edged  round  to  the  war,  when  the  grave  Judge 
began  telling  Ridings  and  Robie  just  how  "  Kilpatrick 
charged  along  the  Granny  White  Turnpike,"  and,  on  a 
sheet  of  wrapping  paper,  was  showing  where  Major 
John  Dilrigg  fell.  "I  was  on  his  left,  about  thirty 
yards,  when  I  saw  him  throw  up  his  hand  —  " 

Foster  in  a  low  voice  was  telling  something  to  the 
Professor  and  two  or  three  others,  which  made  them 
whoop  with  uncontrollable  merriment,  when  the  roar- 


132  Prairie   Folks 

ing  voice  of  big  Sam  Walters  was  heard  outside,  and  a 
moment  later  he  rolled  into  the  room,  filling  it  with  his 
noise.  Lottridge,  the  watchmaker,  and  Erlberg,  the 
German  baker,  came  in  with  him. 

"  Hel/o,  hello,  hello  !     All  here,  are  yeh  ?  " 

"All  here  waiting  for  you  —  and  the  turnkey,"  said 
Foster. 

"Well,  here  I  am.  Always  on  hand,  like  a  sore 
thumb  in  huskin*  season.  What's  goin'  on  here  ?  A 
game,  hey  ?  Hello,  Gordon,  it's  you,  is  it  ?  Colonel, 
I  owe  you  several  for  last  night ;  but  what  the  devil 
yo'  got  your  cap  on  fur,  Colonel  ?  Ain't  it  warm 
enough  here  for  yeh  ?  " 

The  desperate  Colonel,  who  had  snatched  up  his  cap 
when  he  heard  Walters  coming,  grinned  painfully,  pull 
ing  his  straggly  red  and  white  beard  nervously.  The 
strain  was  beginning  to  tell  on  his  iron  nerves.  He 
removed  the  cap,  and  with  a  few  muttered  words  went 
back  to  the  game,  but  there  was  a  dangerous  gleam  in 
his  fishy  blue  eyes,  and  the  grizzled  tufts  of  red  hair 
above  his  eyes  lowered  threateningly.  A  man  who  is 
getting  swamped  in  a  game  of  checkers  is  not  in  a  mood 
to  bear  pleasantly  any  remarks  on  his  bald  head. 

"Oh!  don't  take  it  off,  Colonel,"  went  on  his  tor 
mentor,  hospitably.  "  When  a  man  gets  as  old  as  you 
are,  he's  privileged  to  wear  his  cap.  I  wonder  if  any 
of  you  fellers  have  noticed  how  the  Colonel  is  shedding 
his  hair." 

The  old  man  leaped  up,  scattering  the  men  on  the 
checker-board,  which  flew  up  and  struck  Squire  Gordon 


Some  Village  Cronies  133 

in  the  face,  knocking  him  off  his  stool.  The  old 
Colonel  was  ashy  pale,  and  his  eyes  glared  out  from 
under  .'s  huge  brow  like  sapphires  lit  by  flame.  His 
spare  form,  clothed  in  a  seedy  Prince  Albert  frock, 
towered  with  a  singular  dignity.  His  features  worked 
convulsively  a  moment,  then  he  burst  forth  like  the 
explosion  of  a  safety  valve :  — 

"  Shuttup,  damyeh  !  " 

And  then  the  crowd  whooped,  roared,  and  rolled  on 
the  counters  and  barrels,  and  roared  and  whooped  again. 
They  stamped  ^nd  yelled,  and  ran  around  like  fiends, 
kicking  the  boxes  and  banging  the  coal-scuttle  in  a  per 
fect  pandemonium  of  mirth,  leaving  the  old  man  stand 
ing  there  helpless  in  his  wrath,  mad  enough  to  shoot. 
Steve  was  just  preparing  to  seize  the  old  man  from 
behind,  when  Squire  Gordon,  struggling  to  his  feet 
among  the  spittoons,  cried  out,  in  the  voice  of  a  colonel 
of  Fourth  of  July  militia  :  — 

"  H-O-L-D  !  " 

Silence  was  restored,  and  all  stood  around  in  ex 
pectant  attitudes  to  hear  the  Squire's  explanation.  He 
squared  his  elbows,  shove-d  up  his  sleeves,  puffed  out  his 
fat  cheeks,  moistened  his  ips,  and  began  pompously  :  — 

"  Gentlemen  —  " 

"  You've  hit  it ;  that's  us,"  said  some  of  the  crowd 
in  applause. 

"  Gentlemen  of  Rock  River,  when,  in  the  course  of 
human  events,  rumor  had  blow'd  to  my  ears  the  history 
of  the  checker-playing  of  Rock  River,  and  when  I  had 
waxed  Cerro  Gordo,  and  Claiborne,  and  Mower,  then, 


134  Prairie  Folks 

when  1  say  to  my  ears  was  borne  the  clash  of  re 
sounding  arms  in  Rock  River,  the  emporium  of  Rock 
County,  then  did  I  yearn  for  more  worlds  to  conquer, 
and  behold,  I  buckled  on  my  armor  and  I  am  here." 

"  Behold,  he  is  here,"  said  Foster,  in  confirmation  of 
the  statement.  "  Good  for  you,  Squire ;  git  breath 
and  go  for  us  some  more." 

"  Hurrah  for  the  Squire,"  etc. 

"  I  came  seekin'  whom  I  might  devour,  like  a  raging 
lion.  I  sought  foeman  worthy  of  my  steel.  I  leaped 
into  the  arena  and  blew  my  challenge  to  the  four 
quarters  of  Rock  —  " 

"  Good  f'r  you  !  Settemupagin  !  Go  it,  you  old 
balloon,"  they  all  applauded. 

"  Knowing  my  prowess,  I  sought  a  fair  fout  and  no 
favors.  I  met  the  enemy,  and  he  was  mine.  Champion 
after  champion  went  down  before  me  like  —  went  down 
like  —  ahem  !  went  down  before  me  like  grass  before 
the  mighty  cyclone  of  the  Andes." 

"  Listen  to  the  old  blowhard,"  said  Steve. 

"Put  him  out,"  said  the  speaker,  imperturbably. 
"  Gentlemen,  have  I  the  floor  ?  " 

"  You  have,"  replied  Brown,  "  but  come  to  the  point. 
The  Colonel  is  anxious  to  begin  shooting."  The  Colonel, 
who  began  to  suspect  himself  victimized,  stood  wonder 
ing  what  under  heaven  they  were  going  to  do  next. 

"  I  am  a-gittV  there,"  said  the  orator,  with  a  broad 
and  sunny  condescension.  "  I  found  your  champions 
an'  laid  'em  low.  I  waxed  Walters,  and  then  I  tackled 
the  Colonel.  I  tried  the  echelon,  the  '  general  advance,' 


Some  Village  Cronies  135 

then  the  c  give  away  '  and  c  flank '  movements.  But 
the  Colonel  was  there  !  Till  this  last  game  it  was  a 
fair  field  and  no  favor.  And  now,  gentlemen  of  Rock, 
I  desire  t'  state  to  my  deeply  respected  opponent  that 
he  is  still  champion  of  Rock,  and  I'm  not  sure  but  of 
Northern  Iowa." 

"  Three  cheers  for  the  Kunnel !  " 

And  while  they  were  being  given  the  Colonel's  brows 
relaxed,  and  the  champion  of  Cerro  Gordo  continued 
earnestly  :  — 

cc  And  now  I  wish  to  state  to  Colonel  the  solemn 
fact  that  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  job  put  up  on 
him  to-night.  I  scorn  to  use  such  means  in  a  battle. 
Colonel,  you  may  be  as  bald  as  an  apple,  or  an  egg, 
yes,  or  a  plate,  but  you  can  play  more  checkers  than 
any  man  I  ever  met ;  more  checkers  than  any  other 
man  on  God's  green  footstool  —  with  one  single,  lone 
exception,  —  myself." 

At  this  moment,  somebody  hit  the  Squire  from  Cerro 
Gordo  with  a  decayed  apple,  and  as  the  crowd  shouted 
and  groaned,  Robie  turned  down  the  lights  on  the  tumult. 
The  old  Colonel  seized  the  opportunity  for  putting  a 
handful  of  salt  down  Walters's  neck,  and  slipped  out 
of  the  door  like  a  ghost.  As  the  crowd  swarmed  out 
on  the  icy  walk,  Editor  Foster  yelled  :  — 

"  Gents  !  let  me  give  you  a  pointer.  Keep  your  eye 
peeled  for  the  next  edition  of  the  Rock  River  Morning 
Call." 

And  the  bitter  wind  swept  away  the  answering 
shouts  of  the  pitiless  gang. 


THE   WAR   OF   RACE 

SMALL  men  for  golden  hire  and  fame 
Go  out  against  the  Redman  on  the  sand  ; 
They  go  with  sneers  and  curses  at  his  name. 
He  meets  them  with  an  open  hand, 
And  sadly  asks  them  why  they  come ; 
They  answer  "  By  command  of  might, 
Move  on,  or  we  will  beat  the  drum, 
And  you  shall  answer  for  the  fight." 

Then  the  Redman's  face  grows  dark, 

With  sombre  eyes  he  sits  at  prayer  ; 

"  O  Tirawa  !     Where  shall  thy  children  go  ?      Hark 

To  our  voices  you  who  live  in  air." 

There  comes  no  answer  to  his  wailing  call, 

Then  booms  the  sullen  war  drum,  upon  the  air, 

The  cries  of  woful  women  lift  and  fall, 

And  on  fierce  lips  the  council  fires  flare. 


DRIFTING   CRANE 


DRIFTING   CRANE 

THE  people  of  Boomtown  invariably  spoke  of  Henry 
Wilson  as  the  oldest  settler  in  the  Jim  Valley,  as  he  was 
of  Buster  County,  but  the  Eastern  man,  with  his  ideas 
of  an  "  old  settler,"  was  surprised  as  he  met  the  short, 
silent,  middle-aged  man,  who  was  very  loath  to  tell  any 
thing  about  himself,  and  about  whom  many  strange  and 
thrilling  stories  were  told  by  good  story-tellers.  In 
1879  he  was  the  only  settler  in  the  upper  part  of  the 
valley,  living  alone  on  the  banks  of  the  Elm,  a  slow, 
tortuous  stream  pulsing  lazily  down  the  valley,  too  small 
to  be  called  a  river  and  too  long  to  be  called  a  creek. 
For  two  years,  it  is  said,  Wilson  had  only  the  company 
of  his  cattle,  especially  during  the  winter-time,  and  now 
and  then  a  visit  from  an  Indian,  or  a  trapper  after  mink 
and  musk-rats. 

Between  his  ranch  and  the  settlements  in  Eastern 
Dakota  there  was  the  wedge-shaped  reservation  known 
as  the  Sisseton  Indian  Reserve,  on  which  were  stationed 
the  customary  agency  and  company  of  soldiers.  But, 
of  course,  at  that  time  the  Indians  were  not  restricted 
closely  to  the  bounds  of  the  reserve,  but  ranged  freely 
over  the  vast  and  beautiful  prairie  lying  between  the 
coteaux  or  ranges  of  low  hills  which  mark  out  u  the 
Jim  Valley."  The  valley  was  unsurveyed  for  the  most 
part,  and  the  Indians  naturally  felt  a  sort  of  proprietor- 


140  Prairie  Folks 

ship  in  it,  and  when  Wilson  drove  his  cattle  down  into 
the  valley  and  squatted,  the  chief,  Drifting  Crane,  wel 
comed  him,  as  a  host  might,  to  an  abundant  feast  whose 
hospitality  was  presumed  upon,  but  who  felt  the  need  of 
sustaining  his  reputation  for  generosity,  and  submitted 
graciously. 

The  Indians  during  the  first  summer  got  to  know 
Wilson,  and  liked  him  for  his  silence,  his  courage,  his 
simplicity ;  but  the  older  men  pondered  upon  the  mat 
ter  a  great  deal  and  watched  with  grave  faces  to  see 
him  ploughing  up  the  sod  for  his  garden.  There  was 
something  strange  in  this  solitary  man  thus  deserting 
his  kindred,  coming  here  to  live  alone  with  his  cattle ; 
they  could  not  understand  it.  What  they  said  in  those 
pathetic,  dimly  lighted  lodges  will  never  be  known ;  but 
when  winter  came,  and  the  new-comer  did  not  drive  his 
cattle  back  over  the  hills  as  they  thought  he  would,  then 
the  old  chieftains  took  long  counsel  upon  it.  Night 
after  night  they  smoked  upon  it,  and  at  last  Drifting 
Crane  said  to  two  of  his  young  men  :  "  Go  ask  this 
cattleman  why  he  remains  in  the  cold  and  snow  with  his 
cattle.  Ask  him  why  he  does  not  drive  his  cattle 
home." 

This  was  in  March,  and  one  evening  a  couple  of  days 
later,  as  Wilson  was  about  reentering  his  shanty  at  the 
close  of  his  day's  work,  he  was  confronted  by  two  stal 
wart  Indians,  who  greeted  him  pleasantly. 

"  How  d'e  do  ?  How  d'e  do  ?  "  he  said  in  reply. 
"  Come  in.  Come  in  and  take  a  snack." 

The   Indians   entered   and   sat  silently   while  he   put 


Drifting  Crane  141 

some  food  on  the  table.  They  hardly  spoke  till  after 
they  had  eaten.  The  Indian  is  always  hungry,  for  the 
reason  that  his  food  supply  is  insufficient  and  his  cloth 
ing  poor.  When  they  sat  on  the  cracker-boxes  and 
soap-boxes  which  served  as  seats,  they  spoke.  They 
told  him  of  the  chieftain's  message.  They  said  they 
had  come  to  assist  him  in  driving  his  cattle  back  across 
the  hills ;  that  he  must  go. 

To  all  this  talk  in  the  Indian's  epigrammatic  way, 
and  in  the  dialect  which  has  never  been  written,  the 
rancher  replied  almost  as  briefly  :  u  You  go  back  and 
tell  Drifting  Crane  that  I  like  this  place ;  that  I'm  here 
to  stay  j  that  I  don't  want  any  help  to  drive  my  cattle. 
I'm  on  the  lands  of  the  Great  Father  at  Washington, 
and  Drifting  Crane  ain't  got  any  say  about  it.  Now 
that  sizes  the  whole  thing  up.  I  ain't  got  anything 
against  you  nor  against  him,  but  I'm  a  settler;  that's 
my  constitution ;  and  now  I'm  settled  I'm  going  to 
stay." 

While  the  Indians  discussed  his  words  between  them 
selves  he  made  a  bed  of  blankets  on  the  floor,  and  said  : 
u  I  never  turn  anybody  out.  A  white  man  is  just  as 
good  as  an  Indian  as  long  as  he  behaves  himself  as  well. 
You  can  bunk  here." 

The  Indians  did  not  understand  his  words  fully,  but 
they  did  understand  his  gesture,  and  they  smiled  and 
accepted  the  courtesy,  so  like  their  own  rude  hospitality. 
Then  they  all  smoked  a  pipe  of  tobacco  in  silence,  and 
at  last  Wilson  turned  in  and  went  serenely  ofF  to  sleep, 
hearing  the  mutter  of  the  Indians  lying  before  the  fire. 


142  Prairie  Folks 

In  the  morning  he  gave  them  as  good  a  breakfast  as 
he  had,  —  bacon  and  potatoes,  with  coffee  and  crackers. 
Then  he  shook  hands,  saying  :  "  Come  again.  I  ain't 
got  anything  against  you ;  you've  done  y'r  duty.  Now 
go  back  and  tell  your  chief  what  I've  said.  I'm  at  home 
every  day.  Good  day." 

The  Indians  smiled  kindly,  and  drawing  their  blankets 
over  their  arms,  went  away  toward  the  east. 

During  April  and  May  two  or  three  reconnoitring 
parties  of  land-hunters  drifted  over  the  hills  and  found 
him  out.  He  was  glad  to  see  them,  for,  to  tell  the 
truth,  the  solitude  of  his  life  was  telling  on  him.  The 
winter  had  been  severe,  and  he  had  hardly  caught  a 
glimpse  of  a  white  face  during  the  three  midwinter 
months,  and  his  provisions  were  scanty. 

These  parties  brought  great  news.  One  of  them  was 
the  advance  surveying  party  for  a  great  Northern  rail 
road,  and  they  said  a  line  of  road  was  to  be  surveyed 
during  the  summer  if  their  report  was  favorable. 

"  Well,  what  d'ye  think  of  it  ?  "  Wilson  asked, 
with  a  smile. 

"  Think  !  It's  immense  !  "  said  a  small  man  in  the 
party,  whom  the  rest  called  Judge  Balser.  "  Why, 
they'll  be  a  town  of  four  thousand  inhabitants  in  this 
valley  before  snow  flies.  We'll  send  the  surveyors 
right  over  the  divide  next  month." 

They  sent  some  papers  to  Wilson  a  few  weeks  later, 
which  he  devoured  as  a  hungry  dog  might  devour  a 
plate  of  bacon.  The  papers  were  full  of  the  wonderful 
resources  of  the  Jim  Valley.  It  spoke  of  the  nutritious 


Drifting  Crane  143 

grasses  for  stock.  It  spoke  of  the  successful  venture  of 
the  lonely  settler  Wilson,  how  his  stock  fattened  upon 
the  winter  grasses  without  shelter,  etc.,  what  vegetables 
he  grew,  etc.,  etc. 

Wilson  was  reading  this  paper  for  the  sixth  time  one 
evening  in  May.  He  had  laid  off  his  boots,  his  pipe 
was  freshly  filled,  and  he  sat  in  the  doorway  in  vast 
content,  unmindful  of  the  glory  of  color  that  filled 
the  western  sky,  and  the  superb  evening  chorus  of  the 
prairie-chickens,  holding  conventions  on  every  hillock. 
He  felt  something  touch  him  on  the  shoulder,  and 
looked  up  to  see  a  tall  Indian  gazing  down  upon  him 
with  a  look  of  strange  pride  and  gravity.  Wilson 
sprang  to  his  feet  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"  Drifting  Crane,  how  d'e  do  ?  " 

The  Indian  bowed,  but  did  not  take  the  settler's 
hand.  Drifting  Crane  would  have  been  called  old  if 
he  had  been  a  white  man,  and  there  was  a  look  of  age 
in  the  fixed  lines  of  his  powerful,  strongly  modelled  face, 
but  no  suspicion  of  weakness  in  the  splendid  poise  of  his 
broad,  muscular  body.  There  was  a  smileless  gravity 
about  his  lips  and  eyes  which  was  very  impressive. 

"  I'm  glad  to  see  you.  Come  in  and  get  something 
to  eat,"  said  Wilson,  after  a  moment's  pause. 

The  chief  entered  the  cabin  and  took  a  seat  near  the 
door.  He  took  a  cup  of  milk  and  some  meat  and  bread 
silently,  and  ate  while  listening  to  the  talk  of  the 
settler. 

"  I  don't  brag  on  my  biscuits,  chief,  but  they  eat,  if 
a  man  is  hungry.  An'  the  milk's  all  right.  I  suppose 


144  Prairie  Folks 

you've  come  to  see  why  I  ain't  moseying  back  over  the 
divide  ? " 

The  chief,  after  a  long  pause,  began  to  speak  in  a 
low,  slow  voice,  as  if  choosing  his  words.  He  spoke 
in  broken  English,  of  course,  but  his  speech  was  very 
direct  and  plain,  and  had  none  of  these  absurd  figures 
of  rhetoric  which  romancers  invariably  put  into  the 
mouths  of  Indians.  His  voice  was  almost  lionlike  in 
its  depth,  and  yet  was  not  unpleasant.  It  was  easy  to 
see  that  he  was  a  chief  by  virtue  of  his  own  personality. 

"  Cattleman,  my  young  men  brought  me  bad  message 
from  you.  They  brought  your  words  to  me,  saying,  he 
will  not  go  away." 

"  That's  about  the  way  the  thing  stands,"  replied  Wil 
son,  in  response  to  the  question  that  was  in  the  old 
chiefs  steady  eyes.  "  I'm  here  to  stay.  This  ain't 
your  land ;  this  is  Uncle  Sam's  land,  and  part  of  it'll 
be  mine  as  soon  as  the  surveyors  come  to  measure 
it  off." 

"  Who  gave  it  away  ?  "  asked  the  chief.  "  My  peo 
ple  were  cheated  out  of  it ;  they  didn't  know  what 
they  were  doing." 

"  I  can't  help  that ;  that's  for  Congress  to  say. 
That's  the  business  of  the  Great  Father  at  Washing 
ton."  Wilson's  voice  changed.  He  knew  and  liked 
the  chief;  he  didn't  want  to  offend  him.  "They  ain't 
no  use  making  a  fuss,  chief.  You  won't  gain  any 
thing." 

There  was  a  look  of  deep  sorrow  in  the  old  man's 
face.  At  last  he  spoke  again  :  "  The  cattleman  is  wel- 


Drifting  Crane 

come;  but  he  must  go,  because  whenever  one  white 
man  goes  and  calls  it  good,  the  others  come.  Drifting 
Crane  has  seen  it  far  in  the  east  twice.  The  white 
men  come  thick  as  the  grass.  They  tear  up  the  sod. 
They  build  houses.  They  scare  the  buffalo  away. 
They  spoil  my  young  men  with  whiskey.  Already  they 
begin  to  climb  the  eastern  hills.  Soon  they  will  fill  the 
valley,  and  Drifting  Crane  and  his  people  will  be  sur 
rounded.  The  sod  will  all  be  black." 

'"  I  hope  you're  right,"  was  the  rancher's  grim  reply. 

"  But  they  will  not  come  if  the  cattleman  go  back  to 
say  the  water  is  not  good,  there  is  no  grass,  and  the 
Indians  own  the  land." 

Wilson  smiled  at  the  childish  faith  of  the  chief. 
"Won't  do,  chief — won't  do.  That  won't  do  any 
good.  I  might  as  well  stay." 

The  chief  rose.  He  was  touched  by  the  settler's 
laugh ;  his  eyes  flashed ;  his  voice  took  on  a  sterner 
note.  u  The  white  man  must  go  !  " 

Wilson  rose  also.  He  was  not  a  large  man,  but  he 
was  a  very  resolute  one.  "  I  shan't  go,"  he  said 
through  his  clenched  teeth.  Each  man  understood  the 
tones  of  the  other  perfectly. 

It  was  a  thrilling,  a  significant  scene.  It  was  in  ab 
solute  truth  the  meeting  of  the  modern  vidette  of  civili 
zation  with  one  of  the  rear-guard  of  retreating  barbarism. 
Each  man  was  a  type  ;  each  was  wrong,  and  each  was 
right.  The  Indian  as  true  and  noble  from  the  barbaric 
point  of  view  as  the  white  man.  He  was  a  warrior  and 
hunter;  made  so  by  circumstances  over  which  he  had 


146  Prairie  Folks 

no  control.  Guiltless  as  the  panther,  because  war  to  a 
savage  is  the  necessity  of  life. 

The  settler  represented  the  unflagging  energy  and 
fearless  heart  of  the  American  pioneer.  Narrow-minded, 
partly  brutalized  by  hard  labor  and  a  lonely  life,  yet  an 
admirable  figure  for  all  that.  As  he  looked  into  the 
Indian's  face  he  seemed  to  grow  in  height.  He  felt 
behind  him  all  the  weight  of  the  millions  of  westward 
moving  settlers  ;  he  stood  the  representative  of  an  un 
born  State.  He  took  down  a  rifle  from  the  wall,  the 
magazine  rifle,  most  modern  of  guns ;  he  patted  the 
stock,  pulled  the  crank,  throwing  a  shell  into  view. 

"  You  know  this  thing,  chief  ?  " 

The  Indian  nodded  slightly. 

"  Well,  I'll  go  when  —  this  —  is  —  empty." 

"  But  my  young  men  are  many." 

"  So  are  the  white  men  —  my  brothers." 

The  chiefs  head  dropped  forward.  Wilson,  ashamed 
of  his  boasting,  put  the  rifle  back  on  the  wall. 

"  I'm  not  here  to  fight.  You  can  kill  me  any  time. 
You  could  'a'  killed  me  to-night,  but  it  wouldn't  do  any 
good.  It  'ud  only  make  it  worse  for  you.  Why,  they'll 
be  a  town  in  here  bigger'n  all  your  tribe  before  two  grass 
from  now.  It  ain't  no  use,  Drifting  Crane ;  it's  got  to 
be.  You  an'  I  can't  help  n'r  hinder  it.  I  know  just 
how  you  feel  about  it,  but  I  tell  yeh  it  ain't  no  use  to 

fight.- 

Drifting  Crane  turned  his  head  and  gazed  out  on  the 
western  sky,  still  red  with  the  light  of  the  fallen  sun. 
His  face  was  rigid  as  bronze,  but  there  was  a  dreaming, 


Drifting  Crane  147 

prophetic  look  in  his  eyes.  A  lump  came  into  the 
settler's  throat ;  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  got  a 
glimpse  of  the  infinite  despair  of  the  Indian.  He  forgot 
that  Drifting  Crane  was  the  representative  of  a  "  vaga 
bond  race  "  ;  he  saw  in  him,  or  rather^//  in  him,  some 
thing  almost  magnetic.  He  was  a  man,  and  a  man  of 
sorrows.  The  settler's  voice  was  husky  when  he  spoke 
again,  and  his  lips  trembled. 

u  Chief,  I'd  go  to-morrow  if  it  'ud  do  any  good,  but 
it  won't  —  not  a  particle.  You  know  that  when  you 
stop  to  think  a  minute.  What  good  did  it  do  to  massa- 
cree  all  them  settlers  at  New  Ulm  ?  What  good  will  it 
do  to  murder  me  and  a  hundred  others  ?  Not  a  bit. 
A  thousand  others  would  take  our  places.  So  I  might 
just  as  well  stay,  and  we  might  just  as  well  keep  good 
friends.  Killin'  is  out  o'  fashion ;  don't  do  any  good." 

There  was  a  twitching  about  the  stern  mouth  of  the 
Indian  chief.  He  understood  all  too  well  the  irresistible 
logic  of  the  pioneer.  He  kept  his  martial  attitude,  but 
his  broad  chest  heaved  painfully,  and  his  eyes  grew  dim. 
At  last  he  said,  "  Good-by.  Cattleman  right ;  Drift 
ing  Crane  wrong.  Shake  hands.  Good-by."  He 
turned  and  strode  away. 

The  rancher  watched  him  till  he  mounted  his  pony, 
picketed  down  by  the  river;  watched  him  as,  with 
drooping  head  and  rein  flung  loose  upon  the  neck  of  his 
horse,  he  rode  away  into  the  dusk,  hungry,  weary,  and 
despairing,  to  face  his  problem  alone.  Again,  for  the 
thousandth  time,  the  impotence  of  the  Indian's  arm  and 
the  hopelessness  of  his  fate  were  shown  as  perfectly  as 


148  Prairie  Folks 

if  two  armies  had  met  and  soaked  the  beautiful  prairie 
sod  with  blood. 

"  This  is  all  wrong,"  muttered  the  settler.  "  There's 
land  enough  for  us  all,  or  ought  to  be.  I  don't  under 
stand —  Well,  I'll  leave  it  to  Uncle  Sam,  anyway." 
He  ended  with  a  sigh. 


Paid  His  Way  149 

PAID    HIS   WAY 

No,  Steve,  I  ain't  complainin'  any, 

Pll  go,  —  if  y'  think  it's  right; 

I  don't  ask  a  single  bite  n'r  a  penny, 

More  n'r  less  'n  jest  what's  white  — 

But  son,  bime-by,  when  the  old  man's  done  for, 

Jest  remember  my  words  to-day  ; 

Y'  don't  like  to  have  me  round  h'yere, 

But  I  reckon  I've  paid  m'  way. 

I  was  eighty-one  last  January, — 

Born  in  the  Buckeye  State, 

I've  opened  two  farms  on  the  prairie, 

An'  worked  on  'em  early  and  late. 

Come  rain  or  come  shine,  a  scrapin'  t'  earn 

Every  mouthful  we  eat,  an'  I  want  'o  say, 

That  I  never  rode  in  no  free  concern 

That  I  didn't  pay  my  way. 

Y'r  mother  and  me  worked  mighty  hard, 

How  hard  you'll  never  know  ; 

In  cold  and  heat  a-standin'  guard 

To  keep  off  the  rain  and  snow. 

The  mortgige  kep'  eating  in  nearer  to  bone, 

And  the  war  it  come  along  too, 

But  I  went — left  mother  alone 

With  Sis  in  the  cradle  —  and  you. 

Served  my  time,  an'  commenced  agin 
On  an  loway  prairie  quarter, 


Prairie  Folks 

An'  there  I  ploughed  an'  sowed  an'  fenced, 

And  nigged  as  no  human  orter, 

To  raise  you  young  ones  and  feed  m'  wife  — 

Y'r  mother  scrimped  and  scrubbed  till  her  hair  was 

gray, 
And  I  reckon  we  paid  our  way. 

No,  y'r  high-toned  tavern  ain't  good  enough 

F'r  a  man  like  me  to  die  in  ! 

The  work  that's  made  me  crooked  and  rough 

Should  'a'  earned  me  a  bed  to  lie  in 

Under  the  roof  of  my  only  son,  — 

If  his  wife  is  proud  an'  gay ; 

For  I  boosted  y'  into  the  place  y've  won. 

0  I  reckon  I've  paid  my  way. 

Y'r  wife  I  know  is  turrible  set, 

She's  mighty  hansom  to  see 

I'll  admit,  but  it's  a  turrible  fret 

This  havin'  to  eat  with  me. 

She  never  speaks,  and  she  never  seems 

To  be  listnin'  to  what  I  say, 

But  the  children  do,  they  don't  know  yet, 

Their  grandad's  in  the  way. 

1  d'  know's  you're  very  much  to  blame 
For  wantin'  to  have  me  go, 

But,  Steve,  I'm  glad  y'r  mother's  dead, 
'Twould  break  her  heart  to  know. 


Paid  His  Way  151 

She'd  say  I  orter  live  here, 

What  time  I've  got  to  stay, 

For,  Stephen,  I've  travelled  for  fifty  years, 

An'  I've  always  paid  my  way. 

I  aint'  a-goin'  to  bother  y'  long, 

I'll  be  a-pioneerin'  further  West 

Where  mother  is,  and  God'll  say, 

Take  it  easy,  Amos,  y've  earned  a  rest  — 

So,  Stevie,  I  want  to  stay  with  you, 

I  want  'o  work  while  I  stay, 

Jes'  give  me  a  little  sumpin'  to  do, 

I  reckon  I'll  pay  my  way. 


DADDY   DEERING 


DADDY   DEERING 


THEY  were  threshing  on  Farmer  Jennings's  place 
when  Daddy  made  his  very  characteristic  appearance. 
Milton,  a  boy  of  thirteen,  was  gloomily  holding  sacks 
for  the  measurer,  and  the  glory  of  the  October  day  was 
dimmed  by  the  suffocating  dust,  and  poisoned  by  the 
smarting  beards  and  chaff  which  had  worked  their  way 
down  his  neck.  The  bitterness  of  the  dreaded  task  was 
deepened  also  by  contrast  with  the  gambols  of  his  cousin 
Billy,  who  was  hunting  rats  with  Growler  amid  the  last 
sheaves  of  the  stack  bottom.  The  piercing  shrieks  of 
Billy,  as  he  clapped  his  hands  in  murderous  glee,  mingled 
now  and  again  with  the  barking  of  the  dog. 

The  machine  seemed  to  fill  the  world  with  its  snarl 
ing  boom,  which  became  a  deafening  yell  when  the 
cylinder  ran  empty  for  a  moment.  It  was  nearly  noon, 
and  the  men  were  working  silently,  with  occasional 
glances  toward  the  sun  to  see  how  near  dinner-time  it 
was.  The  horses,  dripping  with  sweat,  and  with  patches 
of  foam  under  their  harness,  moved  round  and  round 
steadily  to  the  cheery  whistle  of  the  driver. 

The  wild,  imperious  song  of  the  bell-metal  cog-wheel 
had  sung  into  Milton's  ears  till  it  had  become  a  torture, 
and  every  time  he  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  beautiful  far-off 


156  Prairie  Folks 

sky,  where  the  clouds  floated  like  ships,  a  lump  of  rebel 
lious  anger  rose  in  his  throat.  Why  should  he  work  in 
this  choking  dust  and  deafening  noise  while  the  hawks 
could  sail  and  sweep  from  hill  to  hill  with  nothing  to  do 
but  play  ? 

Occasionally  his  uncle,  the  feeder,  smiled  down  upon 
him,  his  face  black  as  a  negro,  great  goggles  of  glass 
and  wire-cloth  covering  his  merry  eyes.  His  great 
good-nature  shone  out  in  the  flash  of  his  white  teeth, 
behind  his  dusky  beard,  and  he  tried  to  encourage 
Milton  with  his  smile.  He  seemed  tireless  to  the 
other  hands.  He  was  so  big  and  strong.  He  had 
always  been  Milton's  boyish  hero.  So  Milton  crowded 
back  the  tears  that  came  into  his  eyes,  and  would  not 
let  his  uncle  see  how  childish  he  was. 

A  spectator  riding  along  the  road  would  have  remarked 
upon  the  lovely  setting  for  this  picturesque  scene  —  the 
low  swells  of  prairie,  shrouded  with  faint,  misty  light 
from  the  unclouded  sky,  the  flaming  colors  of  the  trees, 
the  faint  sound  of  cow-bells,  and  the  cheery  sound  of 
the  machine.  But  to  be  a  tourist  and  to  be  a  toiler  in 
a  scene  like  this  are  quite  different  things. 

They  were  anxious  to  finish  the  setting  by  noon,  and 
so  the  feeder  was  crowding  the  cylinder  to  its  limit, 
rolling  the  grain  in  with  slow  and  apparently  effortless 
swaying  from  side  to  side,  half  buried  in  the  loose  yel 
low  straw.  But  about  eleven  o'clock  the  machine 
came  to  a  stand,  to  wait  while  a  broken  tooth  was 
being  replaced,  and  Milton  fled  from  the  terrible  dust 
beside  the  measuring  spout,  and  was  shaking  the  chafF 


Daddy  Deering  157 

out  of  his  clothing,  when  he  heard  a  high,  snappy, 
nasal  voice  call  down  from  the  straw-pile.  A  tall  man, 
with  a  face  completely  masked  in  dust,  was  speaking  to 
Mr.  Jennings  :  — 

u  Say,  young  man,  I  guess  you'll  haf  to  send  another 
man  up  here.  It's  poorty  stiff  work  f'r  two ;  yes,  sir, 
poorty  stiff." 

u  There,  there  !  I  thought  you'd  cry  'cavy,'"  laughed 
Mr.  Jennings.  "  I  told  you  it  wasn't  the  place  for  an 
old  man." 

"  Old  man,"  snarled  the  figure  in  the  straw.  "  I 
ain't  so  old  but  I  can  daown  you,  sir,  —  yessir,  con- 
demmit,  yessir!  " 

"  I'm  your  man,"  replied  Jennings,  smiling  up  at  him. 

The  man  rolled  down  the  side  of  the  stack,  disappear 
ing  in  a  cloud  of  dust  and  chaff.  When  he  came  to 
light,  Milton  saw  a  tall,  gaunt  old  man  of  sixty  years 
of  age,  or  older.  Nothing  could  be  seen  but  a  dusty 
expanse  of  face,  ragged  beard,  and  twinkling,  sharp 
little  eyes.  His  color  was  lost,  his  eyes  half  hid. 
Without  waiting  for  ceremony,  the  men  clenched. 
The  crowd  roared  with  laughter,  for  though  Jennings 
was  the  younger,  the  older  man  was  a  giant  still, 
and  the  struggle  lasted  for  some  time.  He  made  a 
gallant  fight,  but  his  breath  gave  out,  and  he  lay  at 
last  flat  on  his  back. 

"  I  wish  I  was  your  age,  young  man,"  he  said  ruefully, 
as  he  rose.  "  I'd  knock  the  heads  o'  these  young  scamps 
t'gether,  —  yessir  !  —  I  could  do  it,  too  !  " 

"Talk's  a  good  dog,  uncle,"  said  a  young  man. 


158  Prairie  Folks 

The  old  man  turned  on  him  so  ferociously  that  he 
fled. 

"  Run,  condemn  yeh  !     I  own  y'  can  beat  me  at  that." 

His  face  was  not  unpleasant,  though  his  teeth  were 
mainly  gone,  and  his  skin  the  color  of  leather  and 
wrinkled  as  a  pan  of  cream.  His  eyes  had  a  certain 
sparkle  of  fun  that  belied  his  rasping  voice,  which 
seemed  to  have  the  power  to  lift  a  boy  clean  off  his  feet. 
His  frame  was  bent  and  thin,  but  of  great  height  and 
breadth,  bony  and  tough  as  hickory.  At  some  far  time 
vast  muscles  must  have  rolled  on  those  giant  limbs,  but 
toil  had  bent  and  stiffened  him. 

"  Never  been  sick  a  day  'n  my  life ;  no,  sir  !  "  he 
said,  in  his  rapid,  rasping,  emphatic  way,  as  they  were 
riding  across  the  stubble  to  dinner.  u  And,  by  gol !  I 
c'n  stand  as  long  at  the  tail  of  a  stacker  as  any  man, 
sir.  Dummed  if  I  turn  my  hand  for  any  man  in  the 
state ;  no,  sir ;  no,  sir  !  But  if  I  do  two  men's  works, 
I  am  goin'  to  have  two  men's  pay  —  that's  all,  sir !  " 

Jennings  laughed  and  said  :  "  All  right,  uncle.  I'll 
send  another  man  up  there  this  afternoon." 

The  old  man  seemed  to  take  a  morbid  delight  in 
the  hard  and  dirty  places,  and  his  endurance  was 
marvellous.  He  could  stand  all  day  at  the  tail  of  a 
stacker,  tirelessly  pushing  the  straw  away  with  an  in 
different  air,  as  if  it  were  all  mere  play. 

He  measured  the  grain  the  next  day,  because  it 
promised  to  be  a  noisier  and  dustier  job  than  working 
in  the  straw,  and  it  was  in  this  capacity  that  Milton 
came  to  know  and  to  hate  him,  and  to  associate  him 


Daddy  Deering  159 

with  that  most  hated  of  all  tasks,  the  holding  of  sacks. 
To  a  twelve-year-old  boy  it  seems  to  be  the  worst  job 
in  the  world. 

All  day,  while  the  hawks  wheel  and  dip  in  the 
glorious  air,  and  the  trees  glow  like  banks  of  roses  ; 
all  day,  while  the  younger  boys  are  tumbling  about 
the  sunlit  straw,  to  be  forced  to  stand  holding  sacks, 
like  a  convict,  was  maddening.  Daddy,  whose  rugged 
features,  bent  shoulders,  and  ragged  cap  loomed  through 
the  suffocating,  blinding  dust,  necessarily  came  to  seem 
like  the  jailer  who  held  the  door  to  freedom. 

And  when  the  dust  and  noise  and  monotony  seemed 
the  very  hardest  to  bear,  the  old  man's  cackling  laugh 
was  sure  to  rise  above  the  howl  of  the  cylinder. 

"  Nem  mind,  sonny  !  Chaff  ain't  pizen  ;  dust  won't 
hurt  ye  a  mite."  And  when  Milton  was  unable  to 
laugh,  the  old  man  tweaked  his  ear  with  his  leathery 
thumb  and  finger. 

Then  he  shouted  long,  disconnected  yarns,  to  which 
Milton  could  make  neither  head  nor  tail,  and  which 
grew  at  last  to  be  inaudible  to  him,  just  as  the  steady 
boom  and  snarl  of  the  great  machine  did.  Then  he 
fell  to  studying  the  old  man's  clothes,  which  were  a 
wonder  to  him.  He  spent  a  good  deal  of  time  trying 
to  discover  which  were  the  original  sections  of  the 
coat,  and  especially  of  the  vest,  which  was  ragged  and 
yellow  with  age,  with  the  cotton  batting  working  out ; 
arid  yet  Daddy  took  the  greatest  care  of  it,  folding  it 
carefully  and  putting  it  away  during  the  heat  of  the 
day  out  of  reach  of  the  crickets. 


160  Prairie  Folks 

One  of  his  peculiarities,  as  Mrs.  Jennings  learned 
on  the  second  day,  was  his  habit  of  coming  to  breakfast. 
But  he  always  earned  all  he  got,  and  more  too ;  and,  as 
it  was  probable  that  his  living  at  home  was  frugal,  Mrs. 
Jennings  smiled  at  his  thrift,  and  quietly  gave  him 
his  breakfast  if  he  arrived  late,  which  was  not  often. 

He  had  bought  a  little  farm  not  far  away,  and  settled 
down  into  a  mode  of  life  which  he  never  afterward 
changed.  As  he  was  leaving  at  the  end  of  the  third 
day,  he  said :  — 

"Now,  sir,  if  you  want  any  bootcherin'  done,  I'm 
y'r  man.  I  don't  turn  m'  hand  over  f'r  any  man  in 
the  state ;  no,  sir !  I  c'n  git  a  hawg  on  the  gambrils 
jest  a  leetle  quicker'n  any  other  man  I  ev.er  see;  yes, 
sir;  by  gum  !  " 

"  All  right,  uncle ;  I'll  send  for  you  when  I'm  ready 
to  kill." 

II 

HOG-KILLING  was  one  of  the  events  of  a  boy's  life 
on  a  Western  farm,  and  Daddy  was  destined  to  be 
associated  in  the  minds  of  Shep  and  Milton  with  an 
other  disagreeable  job,  that  of  building  the  fire  and 
carrying  water. 

It  was  very  early  on  a  keen,  biting  morning  in 
November  when  Daddy  came  driving  into  the  yard 
with  his  rude,  long-runnered  sled,  one  horse  half  his 
length  behind  the  other  in  spite  of  the  driver's  cluck 
ing.  He  was  delighted  to  catch  the  boys  behind  in 
the  preparation. 


Daddy  Deering  161 

"  A-a-h-h-r-r-h-h  !  "  he  rasped  out,  "  you  lazy  vaga- 
bon's  ?  Why  ain't  you  got  that  fire  blazin'  ?  WHAT 
the  devil  do  y'  mean,  you  rascals  !  Here  it  is  broad 
daylight,  and  that  fire  not  built.  I  vum,  sir,  you  need 
a  thrashing  the  whole  kit  an  bilun'  of  ye ;  yessir ! 
Come,  come,  come !  hustle  now,  stir  your  boots ! 
hustle  y'r  boots  —  ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  " 

It  was  of  no  use  to  plead  cold  weather  and  damp 
chips. 

"  What  has  that  got  to  do  with  it,  sir  ?  I  vum,  sir, 
when  I  was  your  age,  I  could  make  a  fire  of  green 
red-oak ;  yessir !  Don't  talk  to  me  of  colds  !  Stir 
your  stumps  and  get  warm,  sir  ! " 

The  old  man  put  up  his  horses  (and  fed  them 
generously  with  oats),  and  then  went  to  the  house  to 
ask  for  "  a  leetle  something  hot  —  mince  pie  or  sassidge." 
His  request  was  very  modest,  but,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
he  sat  down  and  ate  a  very  hearty  breakfast,  while  the 
boys  worked  away  at  the  fire  under  the  big  kettle. 

The  hired  man,  under  Daddy's  direction,  drew  the 
bob-sleighs  into  position  on  the  sunny  side  of  the  corn- 
crib,  and  arranged  the  barrel  at  the  proper  slant,  while 
the  old  man  ground  his  knives,  Milton  turning  the 
grindstone  —  another  hateful  task,  which  Daddy's 
stories  could  not  alleviate. 

Daddy  never  finished  a  story.  If  he  started  in  to 
tell  about  a  horse  trade,  it  infallibly  reminded  him  of 
a  cattle  trade,  and  talking  of  cattle  switched  him  off 
upon  logging,  and  logging  reminded  him  of  some 
heavy  snow-storm  he  had  known.  Each  parenthesis 


1 62  Prairie  Folks 

outgrew  its  proper  limits,  till  he  forgot  what  should 
have  been  the  main  story.  His  stones  had  some  com 
pensation,  for  when  he  stopped  to  try  to  recollect  where 
he  was,  the  pressure  on  the  grindstone  was  released. 

At  last  the  water  was  hot,  and  the  time  came  to  seize 
the  hogs.  This  was  the  old  man's  great  moment.  He 
stood  in  the  pen  and  shrieked  with  laughter  while  the 
hired  men  went  rolling,  one  after  the  other,  upon  the 
ground,  or  were  bruised  against  the  fence  by  the  rush  of 
the  burly  swine. 

"  You're  a  fine  lot,"  he  laughed.  "  Now,  then,  sir, 
grab  'im  !  Why  don't  ye  nail  'im  ?  I  vum,  sir,  if  I 
couldn't  do  better'n  that,  sir,  I'd  sell  out ;  I  would,  sir, 
by  gol !  Get  out  o'  the  way  !  " 

With  a  lofty  scorn  he  waved  aside  all  help  and  stalked 
like  a  gladiator  toward  the  pigs  huddled  in  one  corner  of 
the  pen.  And  when  the  selected  victim  was  rushing  by 
him,  his  long  arm  and  great  bony  hand  swept  out, 
caught  him  by  the  ear,  and  flung  him  upon  his  side, 
squealing  with  deafening  shrillness.  But  in  spite  of 
his  smiling  concealment  of  effort,  Daddy  had  to  lean 
against  the  fence  and  catch  his  breath  even  while  he 
boasted  :  — 

"  I'm  an  old  codger,  sir,  but  I'm  worth  —  a  dozen  o' 
you  —  spindle-legged  chaps;  dum  me  if  I  ain't,  sir!" 

His  pride  in  his  ability  to  catch  and  properly  kill  a 
hog  was  as  genuine  as  the  old  knight-errant's  pride  in 
his  ability  to  stick  a  knife  into  another  steel-clothed 
brigand  like  himself.  When  the  slain  shote  was  swung 
upon  the  planking  on  the  sled  before  the  barrel,  Daddy 


Daddy  Deering  163 

rested,  while  the  boys  filled  the  barrel  with  water  from 
the  kettle. 

There  was  always  a  weird  charm  about  this  stage  of 
the  work  to  the  boys.  The  sun  shone  warm  and  bright 
in  the  lee  of  the  corn-crib ;  the  steam  rose  up,  white  and 
voluminous,  from  the  barrel ;  the  eaves  dropped  steadily ; 
the  hens  ventured  near,  nervously,  but  full  of  curiosity, 
while  the  men  laughed  and  joked  with  Daddy,  starting 
him  off  on  long  stories,  and  winking  at  each  other  when 
his  back  was  turned. 

At  last  he  mounted  his  planking,  selecting  Mr.  Jen 
nings  to  pull  upon  the  other  handle  of  the  hog-hook. 
He  considered  he  conferred  a  distinct  honor  in  this 
selection. 

"  The  time's  been,  sir,  when  I  wouldn't  thank  any 
man  for  his  help.  No,  sir,  wouldn't  thank  'im." 

"  What  do  you  do  with  these  things  ?  "  asked  one  of 
the  men,  kicking  two  iron  candlesticks  which  the  old 
man  laid  conveniently  near. 

"  Scrape  a  hawg  with  them,  sir.  What  do  y'  s'pose, 
you  numskull  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  never  saw  anything  —  " 
u  You'll    have    a    chance    mighty    quick,    sir.      Grab 
ahold,  sir  !      Swing  'im  around  —  there  !       Now  easy, 
easy  !     Now  then,  one,  two;  one,  two  —  that's  right." 

While  he  dipped  the  porker  in  the  water,  pulling  with 
his  companion  rhythmically  upon  the  hook,  he  talked 
incessantly,  mixing  up  scraps  of  stories  and  boastings  of 
what  he  could  do,  with  commands  of  what  he  wanted 
the  other  man  to  do. 


164  Prairie  Folks 

"  The  best  man  I  ever  worked  with.  Now  turn  'im, 
turn  'imf"  he  yelled,  reaching  over  Jennings's  wrist. 
"  Grab  under  my  wrist.  There  !  won't  ye  never  learn 
how  to  turn  a  hawg  ?  Now  out  with  'im ! "  was  his 
next  wild  yell,  as  the  steaming  hog  was  jerked  out  of 
the  water  upon  the  planking.  "  Now  try  the  hair  on 
them  ears  !  Beautiful  scald,"  he  said,  clutching  his  hand 
full  of  bristles  and  beaming  with  pride.  "  Never  see 
anything  finer.  Here,  Bub,  a  pail  of  hot  water,  quick ! 
Try  one  of  them  candlesticks  !  They  ain't  no  better 
scraper  than  the  bottom  of  an  old  iron  candlestick ;  no, 
sir !  Dum  your  new-fangled  scrapers  !  I  made  a  bet 
once  with  old  Jake  Ridgeway  that  I  could  scrape  the 
hair  ofPn  two  hawgs,  by  gum,  quicker'n  he  could  one. 
Jake  was  blowin'  about  a  new  scraper  he  had.  .  .  . 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes,  dump  it  right  into  the  barrel.  Con- 
demmit !  Ain't  you  got  no  gumption  ?  .  .  .  So  Sim 
Smith,  he  held  the  watch.  Sim  was  a  mighty  good  hand 
t'  work  with ;  he  was  about  the  only  man  I  ever  sawed 
with  who  didn't  ride  the  saw.  He  could  jerk  a  cross 
cut  saw.  .  .  .  Now  let  him  in  again,  now,  he-bo,  once 
again  !  Rool  him  over  now ;  that  foreleg  needs  a  tech  o' 
water.  Now  out  with  him  again ;  that's  right,  that's 
right !  By  gol,  a  beautiful  scald  as  ever  I  see  !  " 

Milton,  standing  near,  caught  his  eye  again.  u  Clean 
that  ear,  sir  !  What  the  devil  you  standin'  there  for  ?  " 
He  returned  to  his  story  after  a  pause.  u  A  —  n  —  d 
Jake,  he  scraped  away  —  hyare  I '"  he  shouted  suddenly, 
"  don't  ruggle  the  skin  like  that !  Can't  you  see  the 
way  I  do  it  ?  Leave  it  smooth  as  a  baby,  sir  —  yessir  !  " 


Daddy  Deering  165 

He  worked  on  in  this  way  all  day,  talking  unceasingly, 
never  shirking  a  hard  job,  and  scarcely  showing  fatigue 
at  any  moment. 

"  I'm  short  o'  breath  a  leetle,  that's  all ;  never  git  tired, 
but  my  wind  gives  out.  Dum  cold  got  on  me,  too." 

He  ate  a  huge  supper  of  liver  and  potatoes,  still  work 
ing  away  hard  at  an  ancient  horse  trade,  and  when  he 
drove  off  at  night,  he  had  not  yet  finished  a  single  one 
of  the  dozen  stories  he  had  begun. 

Ill 

BUT  pitching  grain  and  hog-killing  were  on  the  lower 
levels  of  his  art,  for  above  all  else  Daddy  loved  to  be 
called  upon  to  play  the  fiddle  for  dances.  He  "  offici 
ated  "  for  the  first  time  at  a  dance  given  by  one  of  the 
younger  McTurgs.  They  were  all  fiddlers  themselves, 
—  had  been  for  three  generations,  —  but  they  seized  the 
opportunity  of  helping  Daddy  and  at  the  same  time  of 
relieving  themselves  of  the  trouble  of  furnishing  the 
music  while  the  rest  danced. 

Milton  attended  this  dance,  and  saw  Daddy  for  the 
first  time  earning  his  money  pleasantly.  From  that  time 
on  the  associations  around  his  personality  were  less  se 
vere,  and  they  came  to  like  him  better.  He  came  early, 
with  his  old  fiddle  in  a  time-worn  white-pine  box.  His 
hair  was  neatly  combed  to  the  top  of  his  long,  narrow 
head,  and  his  face  was  very  clean.  The  boys  all  greeted 
him  with  great  pleasure,  and  asked  him  where  he  would 
sit. 


1 66  Prairie  Folks 

"  Right  on  that  table,  sir ;  put  a  chair  up  there." 

He  took  his  chair  on  the  kitchen-table  as  if  it  were  a 
throne.  He  wore  huge  moccasins  of  moose-hide  on  his 
feet,  and  for  special  occasions  like  this  added  a  paper 
collar  to  his  red  woollen  shirt.  He  took  off  his  coat  and 
laid  it  across  his  chair  for  a  cushion.  It  was  all  very 
funny  to  the  young  people,  but  they  obeyed  him  laugh 
ingly,  and  while  they  "  formed  on,"  he  sawed  his  violin 
and  coaxed  it  up  to  concert  pitch,  and  twanged  it  and 
banged  it  into  proper  tunefulness. 

"  A-a-a-11  ready  there  !  "  he  rasped  out,  with  prodi 
gious  force.  "  Everybody  git  into  his  place  !  "  Then, 
lifting  one  huge  foot,  he  put  the  fiddle  under  his  chin, 
and,  raising  his  bow  till  his  knuckles  touched  the  strings, 
he  yelled,  "  Already,  G'LANG  ! "  and  brought  his  foot 
down  with  a  startling  bang  on  the  first  note.  Rye  doodle 
doo^  doodle  doo. 

As  he  went  on  and  the  dancers  fell  into  rhythm,  the 
clatter  of  heavy  boots  seemed  to  thrill  him  with  old- 
time  memories,  and  he  kept  boisterous  time  with  his 
foot,  while  his  high,  rasping  nasal  rang  high  above  the 
confusion  of  tongues  and  heels  and  swaying  forms. 

"  Ladies'  gran'  change  !  FOUR  hands  round  !  Bal 
ance  all !  Elfy-man  left !  Back  to  play-cis." 

His  eyes  closed  in  a  sort  of  intoxication  of  pleasure, 
but  he  saw  all  that  went  on  in  some  miraculous  way. 

"  First  lady  lead  to  the  right  —  toodle  rum  rum  !  Gent 
foller  after  (step  along  thar)  !  Four  hands  round  —  " 

The  boys  were  immensely  pleased  with  him.  They 
delighted  in  his  antics  rather  than  in  his  tunes,  which 


Daddy  Deering  167 

were  exceedingly  few  and  simple.  They  seemed  never 
to  be  able  to  get  enough  of  one  tune  which  he  called 
"  Honest  John,"  and  which  he  played  in  his  own  way, 
accompanied  by  a  chant  which  he  meant,  without  a  doubt, 
to  be  musical. 

"  HoN-ers  tew  your  pardners  —  tee  teedle  deedle  dee  dee 
dee  dee  !  Stand  up  straight  an'  put  on  your  style  !  Right 
an'  left  four  —  " 

The  hat  was  passed  by  the  floor-manager  during  the 
evening,  and  Daddy  got  nearly  three  dollars,  which 
delighted  Milton  very  much. 

At  supper  he  insisted  on  his  prerogative,  which  was 
to  take  the  prettiest  girl  out  to  supper. 

"  Look-a-here,  Daddy,  ain't  that  crowdin'  the  mourn 
ers  ?  "  objected  the  others. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that,  sir  ?  No,  sir  !  Always 
done  it,  in  Michigan  and  Yark  State  both ;  yes,  sir." 

He  put  on  his  coat  ceremoniously,  while  the  tittering 
girls  stood  about  the  room  waiting.  He  did  not  delay. 
His  keen  eyes  had  made  selection  long  before,  and, 
approaching  Rose  Watson  with  old-fashioned,  elaborate 
gallantry,  he  said :  "  May  I  have  the  pleasure  ?  "  and 
marched  out  triumphantly,  amidst  shouts  of  laughter. 

His  shrill  laugh  rang  high  above  the  rest  at  the  table, 
as  he  said:  "I'm  the  youngest  man  in  this  crowd,  sir! 
Demmit,  I  bet  a  hat  I  c'n  dance  down  any  man  in  this 
crowd ;  yes,  sir.  The  old  man  can  do  it  yet." 

They  all  took  sides  in  order  to  please  him. 

"I'll  bet  he  can,"  said  Hugh  McTurg;  "I'll  beta 
dollar  on  Daddy." 


1 68  Prairie  Folks 

"  I'll  take  the  bet,"  said  Joe  Randall,  and  with  great 
noise  the  match  was  arranged  to  come  the  first  thing 
after  supper. 

"  All  right,  sir ;  any  time,  sir.  I'll  let  you  know  the 
old  man  is  on  earth  yet." 

While  the  girls  were  putting  away  the  supper  dishes, 
the  young  man  lured  Daddy  out  into  the  yard  for  *a 
wrestling-match,  but  some  others  objected. 

"  Oh,  now,  that  won't  do !  If  Daddy  was  a  young 
man  —  " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  sir  ?  I  am  young  enough  for 
you,  sir.  Just  let  me  get  ahold  o'  you,  sir,  and  I'll 
show  you,  you  young  rascal !  you  dem  jackanapes  !  "  he 
ended,  almost  shrieking  with  rage,  as  he  shook  his  fist  in 
the  face  of  his  grinning  tormentors. 

His  friends  held  him  back  with  much  apparent  alarm, 
and  ordered  the  other  fellows  away. 

"  There,  there,  Daddy,  I  wouldn't  mind  him  !  I 
wouldn't  dirty  my  hands  on  him ;  he  ain't  worth  it. 
Just  come  inside,  and  we'll  have  that  dancing-match 
now." 

Daddy  reluctantly  returned  to  the  house,  and,  having 
surrendered  his  violin  to  Hugh  McTurg,  was  ready  for 
the  contest.  As  he  stepped  into  the  middle  of  the  room 
he  was  not  altogether  ludicrous.  His  rusty  trousers 
were  bagged  at  the  knee,  and  his  red  woollen  stockings 
showed  between  the  tops  of  his  moccasins  and  his  panta 
loon  legs,  and  his  coat,  utterly  characterless  as  to  color 
and  cut,  added  to  the  stoop  in  his  shoulders ;  and  yet 
there  was  a  rude  sort  of  grace  and  a  certain  dignity 


Daddy  Deering  169 

about  his  bearing  which  kept  down  laughter.  They 
were  to  have  a  square  dance  of  the  old-fashioned  sort. 

"  Farrm  on,"  he  cried,  and  the  fiddler  struck  up  the 
first  note  of  the  Virginia  Reel.  Daddy  led  out  Rose, 
and  the  dance  began.  He  straightened  up  till  his  tall 
form  towered  above  the  rest  of  the  boys  like  a  weather- 
beaten  pine  tree,  as  he  balanced  and  swung  and  led  and 
called  off  the  changes  with  a  voice  full  of  imperious 
command. 

The  fiddler  took  a  malicious  delight  toward  the  last  in 
quickening  the  time  of  the  good  old  dance,  and  that  put 
the  old  man  on  his  mettle. 

"  Go  it,  ye  young  rascal  !  "  he  yelled.  He  danced 
like  a  boy  and  yelled  like  a  demon,  catching  a  laggard 
here  and  there,  and  hurling  them  into  place  like  tops, 
while  he  kicked  and  stamped,  wound  in  and  out  and 
waved  his  hands  in  the  air  with  a  gesture  which  must 
have  dated  back  to  the  days  of  Washington.  At  last, 
flushed,  breathless,  but  triumphant,  he  danced  a  final 
breakdown  to  the  tune  of  "  Leather  Breeches,"  to  show 
he  was  unsubdued. 

IV 

BUT  these  rare  days  passed  away.  As  the  country 
grew  older  it  lost  the  wholesome  simplicity  of  pioneer 
days,  and  Daddy  got  a  chance  to  play  but  seldom.  He 
no  longer  pleased  the  boys  and  girls  —  his  music  was 
too  monotonous  and  too  simple.  He  felt  this  very 
deeply.  Once  in  a  while  he  broke  forth  in  protest 
against  the  changes. 


170  Prairie  Folks 

"The  boys  I  used  to  trot  on  m'  knee  are  gittin'  too 
high-toned.  They  wouldn't  be  found  dead  with  old 
Deering,  and  then  the  preachers  are  gittin'  thick,  and 
howlin'  agin  dancin',  and  the  country's  filling  up  with 
Dutchmen,  so't  I'm  left  out." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  there  were  few  homes  now  where 
Daddy  could  sit  on  the  table,  in  his  ragged  vest  and 
rusty  pantaloons,  and  play  u  Honest  John,"  while  the 
boys  thumped  about  the  floor.  There  were  few  homes 
where  the  old  man  was  even  a  welcome  visitor,  and  he 
felt  this  rejection  keenly.  The  women  got  tired  of  see 
ing  him  about,  because  of  his  uncleanly  habits  of  spitting, 
and  his  tiresome  stories.  Many  of  the  old  neighbors 
died  or  moved  away,  and  the  young  people  went 
West  or  to  the  cities.  Men  began  to  pity  him  rather 
than  laugh  at  him,  which  hurt  him  more  than  their 
ridicule.  They  began  to  favor  him  at  threshing  or  at 
the  fall  hog-killing. 

"  Oh,  you're  getting  old,  Daddy  ;  you'll  have  to  give 
up  this  heavy  work.  Of  course,  if  you  feel  able  to  do 
it,  why,  all  right  !  Like  to  have  you  do  it,  but  I  guess 
we'll  have  to  .have  a  man  to  do  the  heavy  lifting,  I 
s'pose." 

"  I  s'pose  not,  sir  !  I  am  jest  as  able  to  yank  a  hawg 
as  ever,  sir;  yes,  sir,  demmit  —  demmit !  Do  you  think 
I've  got  one  foot  in  the  grave  ? " 

Nevertheless,  Daddy  often  failed  to  come  to  time  on 
appointed  days,  and  it  was  painful  to  hear  him  trying  to 
explain,  trying  to  make  light  of  it  all. 

"  M'  caugh  wouldn't  let  me  sleep  last  night.     A  gol- 


Daddy  Deering  171 

dum  leetle,  nasty,  ticklin'  caugh,  too ;  but  it  kept  me 
awake,  fact  was,  an'  —  well,  m'  wife,  she  said  I  hadn't 
better  come.  But  don't  you  worry,  sir ;  it  won't 
happen  again,  sir;  no,  sir." 

His  hands  got  stiffer  year  by  year,  and  his  simple 
tunes  became  practically  a  series  of  squeaks  and  squalls. 
There  came  a  time  when  the  fiddle  was  laid  away  almost 
altogether,  for  his  left  hand  got  caught  in  the  cog-wheels 
of  the  horse-power,  and  all  four  of  the  fingers  on  that 
hand  were  crushed.  Thereafter  he  could  only  twang  a 
little  on  the  strings.  It  was  not  long  after  this  that  he 
struck  his  foot  with  the  axe  and  lamed  himself  for  life. 
As  he  lay  groaning  in  bed,  Mr.  Jennings  went  in  to 
see  him  and  tried  to  relieve  the  old  man's  feelings  by 
telling  him  the  number  of  times  he  had  practically  cut 
his  feet  off,  and  said  he  knew  it  was  a  terrible  hard 
thing  to  put  up  with. 

"  Gol  dummit,  it  ain't  the  pain,"  the  old  sufFerer 
yelled,  "  it's  the  dum  awkwardness.  I've  chopped  all 
my  life  ;  I  can  let  an  axe  in  up  to  the  maker's  name,  and 
hew  to  a  hair-line ;  yes,  sir !  It  was  jest  them  dum 
new  mittens  my  wife  made;  they  was  s'  slippery,"  he 
ended  with  a  groan. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  one  accident  hinged  upon  the 
other.  It  was  the  failure  of  his  left  hand,  with  its  use 
less  fingers,  to  do  its  duty,  that  brought  the  axe  down 
upon  his  foot.  The  pain  was  not  so  much  physical  as 
mental.  To  think  that  he,  who  could  hew  to  a  hair 
line,  right  and  left  hand,  should  cut  his  own  foot  like 
a  ten-year-old  boy  —  that  scared  him.  It  brought  age 


1 72  Prairie  Folks 

and  decay  close  to  him.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he 
felt  that  he  was  fighting  a  losing  battle. 

A  man  like  this  lives  so  much  in  the  flesh,  that  when 
his  limbs  begin  to  fail  him  everything  else  seems  slipping 
away.  He  had  gloried  in  his  strength.  He  had  exulted 
in  the  thrill  of  his  life-blood  and  in  the  swell  of  his  vast 
muscles  ;  he  had  clung  to  the  idea  that  he  was  strong  as 
ever,  till  this  last  blow  came  upon  him,  and  then  he 
began  to  think  and  to  tremble. 

When  he  was  able  to  crawl  about  again,  he  was  a 
different  man.  He  was  gloomy  and  morose,  snapping 
and  snarling  at  all  that  came  near  him,  like  a  wounded 
bear.  He  was  alone  a  great  deal  of  the  time  during  the 
winter  following  his  hurt.  Neighbors  seldom  went  in, 
and  for  weeks  he  saw  no  one  but  his  hired  hand,  and 
the  faithful,  dumb  little  old  woman,  his  wife,  who  moved 
about  without  any  apparent  concern  or  sympathy  for  his 
suffering.  The  hired  hand,  whenever  he  called  upon 
the  neighbors,  or  whenever  questions  were  asked,  said 
that  Daddy  hung  around  over  the  stove  most  of  the 
time,  paying  no  attention  to  any  one  or  anything.  "  He 
ain't  dangerous  't  all,"  he  said,  meaning  that  Daddy  was 
not  dangerously  ill. 

Milton  rode  out  from  school  one  winter  day  with 
Bill,  the  hand,  and  was  so  much  impressed  with  his 
story  of  Daddy's  condition  that  he  rode  home  with  him. 
He  found  the  old  man  sitting  bent  above  the  stove, 
wrapped  in  a  quilt,  shivering  and  muttering  to  himself. 
He  hardly  looked  up  when  Milton  spoke  to  him,  and 
seemed  scarcely  to  comprehend  what  he  said. 


Daddy  Deering  173 

Milton  was  much  alarmed  at  the  terrible  change, 
for  the  last  time  he  had  seen  him  he  had  towered  above 
him,  laughingly  threatening  to  "  warm  his  jacket,"  and 
now  here  he  sat,  a  great  hulk  of  flesh,  his  mind  flicker 
ing  and  flaring  under  every  wind  of  suggestion,  soon  to 
go  out  altogether. 

In  reply  to  questions  he  only  muttered  with  a  trace 
of  his  old  spirit :  "  I'm  all  right.  Jest  as  good  a  man  as 
I  ever  was,  only  I'm  cold.  I'll  be  all  right  when  spring 
comes,  so  't  I  c'n  git  outdoors.  Somethin'  to  warm  me 
up,  yessir ;  I'm  cold,  that's  all." 

The  young  fellow  sat  in  awe  before  him,  but  the  old 
wife  and  Bill  moved  about  the  room,  taking  very  little 
interest  in  what  the  old  man  said  or  did.  Bill  at  last 
took  down  the  violin.  "  I'll  wake  him  up,"  he  said. 
"  This  always  fetches  the  old  feller.  Now  watch 
'im." 

"  Oh,  don't  do  that !  "  Milton  said  in  horror.  But 
Bill  drew  the  bow  across  the  strings  with  the  same 
stroke  that  Daddy  always  used  when  tuning  up. 

He  lifted  his  head  as  Bill  dashed  into  "  Honest  John," 
in  spite  of  Milton's  protest.  He  trotted  his  feet  after  a 
little  and  drummed  with  his  hands  on  the  arms  of  his 
chair,  then  smiled  a  little  in  a  pitiful  way.  Finally  he 
reached  out  his  right  hand  for  the  violin  and  took  it 
into  his  lap.  He  tried  to  hold  the  neck  with  his  poor, 
old,  mutilated  left  hand,  and  burst  into  tears. 

"  Don't  you  do  that  again,  Bill,"  Milton  said.  "  It's 
better  for  him  to  forget  that.  Now  you  take  the  best 
care  of  him  you  can  to-night.  I  don't  think  he's  going 


174  Prairie  Folks 

to  live  long  ;  I  think  you  ought  to  go  for  the  doctor 
right  off/' 

"  Oh,  he's  been  like  this  for  the  last  two  weeks ;  he 
ain't  sick,  he's  jest  old,  that's  all,"  replied  Bill,  brutally. 

And  the  old  lady,  moving  about  without  passion  and 
without  speech,  seemed  to  confirm  this ;  and  yet  Milton 
was  unable  to  get  the  picture  of  the  old  man  out  of  his 
mind.  He  went  home  with  a  great  lump  in  his  throat. 

The  next  morning,  while  they  were  at  breakfast,  Bill 
burst  wildly  into  the  room. 

"  Come  over  there,  all  of  you  ;  we  want  you." 

They  all  looked  up  much  scared.  "What's  the 
matter,  Bill  ?  " 

"Daddy's  killed  himself,"  said  Bill,  and  turned  to 
rush  back,  followed  by  Mr.  Jennings  and  Milton. 

While  on  the  way  across  the  field  Bill  told  how  it  all 
happened. 

"  He  wouldn't  go  to  bed,  the  old  lady  couldn't  make 
him,  and  when  I  got  up  this  morning  I  didn't  think 
nothin'  about  it.  I  s'posed,  of  course,  he'd  gone  to  bed 
all  right ;  but  when  I  was  going  out  to  the  barn  I  stum 
bled  across  something  in  the  snow,  and  I  felt  around, 
and  there  he  was.  He  got  hold  of  my  revolver  some 
way.  It  was  on  the  shelf  by  the  washstand,  and  I 
s'pose  he  went  out  there  so  't  we  wouldn't  hear  him. 
I  dassn't  touch  him,"  he  said,  with  a  shiver;  "and  the 
old  woman,  she  jest  slumped  down  in  a  chair  an'  set 
there  —  wouldn't  do  a  thing  —  so  I  come  over  to  see 
you." 


Daddy  Deering  175 

Milton's  heart  swelled  with  remorse.  He  felt  guilty 
because  he  had  not  gone  directly  for  the  doctor.  To 
think  that  the  old  sufferer  had  killed  himself  was  horri 
ble  and  seemed  impossible. 

The  wind  was  blowing  the  snow,  cold  and  dry,  across 
the  yard,  but  the  sun  shone  brilliantly  upon  the  figure 
in  the  snow  as  they  came  up  to  it.  There  Daddy  lay. 
The  snow  was  in  his  scant  hair  and  in  the  hollow  of 
his  wide,  half-naked  chest.  A  pistol  was  in  his  hand, 
but  there  was  no  mark  upon  him,  and  Milton's  heart 
leaped  with  quick  relief.  It  was  delirium,  not  suicide. 

There  was  a  sort  of  majesty  in  the  figure  half  buried 
in  the  snow.  His  hands  were  clenched,  and  there  was 
a  frown  of  resolution  on  his  face,  as  if  he  had  fancied 
Death  coming,  and  had  gone  defiantly  forth  to  meet 
him. 


Prairie  Folks 


HORSUS    CHAWIN'    HAY 

I  TELL  yeh  whut !     The  chankin' 

Which  the  tired  horses  makes 
When  you've  slipped  the  harness  ofPm, 

An'  shoved  the  hay  in  flakes 
From  the  hay-mow  overhead, 

Is  jest  about  the  equal  of  any  pi-anay  ; 
They's  nothin'  soun's  s'  cumftabul 

As  horsus  chawin'  hay. 

I  love  t'  hear  'em  chankin', 

Jest  a-grindin'  slow  and  low, 
With  their  snoots  a-rootin'  clover 

Deep  as  their  oP  heads  '11  go, 
It's  kind  o'  sort  o'  restin' 

To  a  feller's  bones,  I  say, 
It  soun's  s'  mighty  cumftabul  — 

The  horsus  chawin'  hay. 

Gra-onk,  gra-onk,  gra-onk  ! 

In  a  stiddy  kind  o'  tone, 
Not  a  tail  a-waggin'  to  'um, 

N'r  another  sound  'r  groan  — 
Fer  the  flies  is  gone  a-snoozin'. 
Then  I  loaf  around  an'  watch  'em 

In  a  sleepy  kind  o'  way, 
F'r  they  soun'  so  mighty  cumftabul, 

As  they  rewt  and  chaw  their  hay. 


Horsus  Chawin'   Hay  177 

An'  it  sets  me  thinkin'  sober 

Of  the  days  of  '53, 
When  we  pioneered  the  prairies  — 

M'  wife  an'  dad  an'  me, 
In  a  dummed  oP  prairie-schooner, 

In  a  rough-an'-tumble  way, 
Sleepin'  out  at  nights,  to  music 

Of  the  horsus  chawin'  hay. 

Or  I'm  thinkin'  of  my  comrades 

In  the  fall  of  '63, 
When  I  rode  with  oP  Kilpatrick 

Through  an'  through  oP  Tennessee. 
I'm  a-layin'  in  rn'  blanket 

With  my  head  agin  a  stone, 
Gazin'  upwards  toward  the  North  Star  — 

Billy  Sykes  and  Davy  Sloan 

A-snorin'  in  a  buck-saw  kind  o'  way, 
An'  me  a-layin',  listenin' 

To  the  horsus  chawin'  hay. 

It  strikes  me  tumble  cur'ous 

That  a  little  noise  like  that, 
Can  float  a  feller  backward 

Like  the  droppin'  of  a  hat ; 
An'  start  his  throat  a-achin', 

Make  his  eyes  wink  that  a- way  — 
They  ain't  no  sound  that  gits  me, 

Like  horsus  chawin'  hay. 

N 


BLACK   EPHRAM 


This  good  should  be  for  every  man 
That  walks  the  earth  beneath  the  sky, 

Free  should  he  be  to  build  and  plan, 
And  in  contentment  die. 


BLACK   EPHRAM 

WHEN  Wesley  Rogers  returned  from  the  South  he 
brought  back  with  him  a  black  man.  It  took  but  a  few 
days  for  the  whole  country  to  know  of  it,  and  to  find 
out  that  he  had  been  a  slave  and  that  his  name  was 
Uncle  Eph.  The  boys  followed  him  as  he  walked  up 
the  street  of  Rock  River,  and  stood  to  watch  him  as  he 
'clambered  into  the  wagon  of  one  of  Wesley's  neighbors, 
who  was  in  town  with  a  load  of  corn. 

Uncle  Eph  was  perfectly  black  and  had  a  mighty 
chest,  though  his  legs  were  considerably  less  powerful. 
His  head  was  well  shaped,  his  face  was  grave,  and  his 
eyes  unusually  keen  for  a  negro.  He  could  read  a  little, 
Wesley  said,  and  he  was  very  religious.  Though  very 
far  from  being  a  white  man  painted  black,  he  was  a 
rather  superior  negro. 

Wesley  was  a  churchman  himself,  and  had  been  at 
tracted  to  Eph  by  his  power  as  an  exhorter  and  as  a 
singer.  Wesley  had  the  gift  himself,  and  sang  tenor  to 
Uncle  Eph's  bass  with  great  delight  as  they  rode  home 
through  the  warm  September  evening. 

It  was  all  strange  to  the  negro.  He  had  readily  con 
sented  to  come  North  because  to  him  it  was  a  mystical 
"  God's  country."  He  went  as  a  friend,  not  as  a  ser 
vant,  for  Wesley  had  no  touch  of  authority  in  him. 
His  hired  men  were  always  as  much  boss  as  himself. 

181 


1 82  Prairie  Folks 

The  big  black  man  was  dazzled  by  his  reception  in 
the  county.  Everybody  seemingly  took  a  friend's  in 
terest  in  him,  and  as  he  was  the  only  negro  in  the 
country  at  that  time,  the  men  shook  hands  with  him 
or  shouted  at  him  with  the  same  peculiar  inflection 
they  used  when  addressing  each  other.  He  could 
not  accustom  himself  to  this  at  once.  It  was  all  so 
strange. 

He  worked  for  Wesley  during  the  first  year  that  he 
lived  in  the  country,  and  he  sat  at  the  table  with  the 
rest  after  some  timid  protest. 

"  I  do*  know,  Misto  Wesley,  if  wheddo  I  should  do- 
dat." 

"  Certainly ;  sit  down,"  Wesley  said.  "  You  ain't 
a  slave  any  more.  You're  my  hired  man.  Sit  down." 

"  Well,  you  see,  Missis  she  might  —  " 

"  Good  land,  no ;  sit  down,  Eph.  Have  sense," 
Mrs.  Rogers  said  vigorously. 

And  thereafter  he  humbly  took  his  seat  by  the 
children. 

It  was  long  before  the  wonder  of  it  wore  off,  but  at 
last  he  came  to  feel  at  ease.  He  seemed  at  last  to  feel 
his  right  to  come  and  go  as  others  did. 

Mrs.  Rogers  explained  to  Mrs.  Adams :  "  So  long 
as  he  is  as  clean  as  we  are,  I  don't  see  as  I've  any  call 
to  object,  and  he  certainly  is  neat." 

The  children  liked  him  very  much,  and  on  evenings 
in  the  kitchen  he  often  took  the  entire  group  of  yellow- 
headed  youngsters  in  his  great  arms,  and,  with  his  mighty 
voice  subdued  to  a  soft  croon,  sang  the  baby  to  sleep. 


Black  Ephram  183 

It  was  a  moving  sight,  —  the  great  black  surrounded  by 
his  mob  of  pale  children. 

Mrs.  Rogers  used  to  sit  and  listen  to  him  in  silence, 
until  the  striking  clock  roused  her  with  a  start  and  a 
sigh. 

"  Well,  Eph,  you  do  make  time  fly  !  Children,  rouse 
up,  now.  Gimme  the  baby,  Eph.  You're  a  great  hand 
with  babies,  I  must  say.  She's  been  a-worritin'  all  day 
to-day,  but  —  " 

Sometimes  he  sang  songs  they  could  not  understand. 
Strange,  wild  chants,  in  a  half-voice  that  made  the 
shivers  run  over  Mrs.  Rogers.  She  used  to  speak  up 
irritably  :  — 

"  Eph,  what  in  the  world  you  singing  now  ? " 

u  I  can't  tell  you  quite,  Missis.  It's  about  de  land  ob 
de  lion.  Darky  wants  to  go  back.  White  man  let  me 
go.  I  want  'o  go  back,  —  back  to  de  land  ob  de  lion  !  " 
Evidently  something  sweet  and  far-off  rose  within  him 
as  he  sang  these  songs. 

He  became  a  great  feature  in  the  protracted  meetings 
in  the  neighborhood.  People  came  long  roads  to  hear 
him  sing.  Wesley's  enthusiasm  was  justified  when  Eph 
rose  one  night  and  sang,  "  Form  a  Line,  Elder,"  during 
his  first  winter  in  the  North. 

After  that  the  meeting  prospered,  and  "Bro.  Ephram" 
was  recognized  as  a  valuable  exhorter.  Also  Bro.  Rog 
ers  had  many  callers  of  an  evening,  and  then  Eph 
"patted  juber,"  and  sang  "Jordan  Am  a  Hard  Road 
to  Trabbel,"  "  Sinner,  Let  Me  Go,"  "  Old  Mule,"  and 
many  other  songs  of  the  plantation. 


184  Prairie  Folks 

He  grew  in  respect  for  himself,  but  he  did  not  lose 
his  balance.  He  was  naturally  a  well-poised  character. 
He  soon  perceived  that  to  retain  any  servility,  or  to 
doubt  the  genuineness  of  the  good  will  expressed,  would 
be  making  his  neighbors  awkward  and  angry.  He  ac 
cepted  their  courtesy  without  comment. 

He  ceased  calling  people  by  their  first  names  in  the 
Southern  way.  He  called  them  Missis  Jones  and 
Misto  Bacon.  He  had  little  dialect,  and  lost  very  soon 
a  large  number  of  his  most  peculiar  phrases.  His 
thickness  of  utterance  remained,  and  in  moments  of 
excitement,  his  African  tongue  came  back,  together 
with  a  wild  chant  that  delighted  the  people  very  much. 
There  were  times  when  he  seemed  sad,  —  perhaps 
he  was  thinking  of  the  peach  trees  and  sunlight  of 
Georgia. 

Life  did  not  go  altogether  smoothly  for  him,  however. 
There  were  a  few  shiftless  woodsmen  living  around  the 
mill  who  were  outraged  that  a  negro  should  be  treated 
like  a  white  man.  They  muttered  threats  about  shoot 
ing,  but  Bacon  and  Councill  told  Eph  he  need  not  fear 
them.  He  tried  not  to  be  disturbed  by  their  snarling, 
but  he  could  not  shake  off  all  sense  of  his  terrible  dis 
ability  before  the  law. 

He  was  troubled  most  by  an  old  "  copperhead  "  who 
owned  a  farm  a  little  way  up  the  river.  Old  man 
Beckett  was  reported  to  have  come  into  Cedar  County 
from  Ohio,  where  his  presence  was  not  valued.  He 
was  a  tall,  grim,  red-haired  man  of  fifty,  with  immense 
shoulders,  which  he  always  carried  edgewise  to  the  front 


Black  Ephram  185 

like  a  fighting  bull.  His  right  eye  was  "  crooked,"  and 
his  voice  was  harsh  and  rasping. 

He  was  known  to  be  a  coward  and  braggart,  but  a 
braggart  with  great  discretion.  He  was  loud  in  his 
threats  against  Uncle  Eph  at  once.  "  I  ain't  goin'  to 
have  no  damn  nigger  a-swellin'  around  over  me,"  he  said 
one  night  in  the  presence  of  Councill  and  several  others 
at  the  March  school  meeting. 

Councill  mildly  interposed  a  word :  "  He  don't  seem 
to  be  swellin'  around,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  he  is  tendin'  to 
his  own  knittin'  full  as  well  as  some  other  folks  I  know." 

Beckett  stormed  on.  "  Well,  he's  no  business  to  come 
up  here  tryin'  to  get  on  an  equality  with  white  folks." 

"  He  won't  have  to  try  very  hard  to  get  on  a  level 
with  some  folks,"  said  Wesley  with  a  smile. 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  put  in  Adams.  "  He'd 
get  pretty  low  if  he  did." 

Beckett  turned  from  one  to  the  other,  livid  with  rage. 

"Yes,  you'd  all  take  up  with  a  damn  nigger  —  y'r 
all  damned  Abolitionists." 

u  Tut !  tut !  friend  Beckett,"  said  Jennings  ;  "  the 
war  is  over,  the  whole  matter  is  settled,  and  we  —  " 

u  Well,  it  ain't  settled  so  far  as  I  am  concerned.  I'll 
be  God  damned  if  any  nigger  —  " 

Bacon  interrupted  his  hoarse  howl  by  clutching  his 
shoulder. 

"  If  you're  so  brisk  for  war  I  think  you  can  be  ac 
commodated.  Now  shut  up,  or  I'm  damned  if  I  don't 
heave  yeh  through  the  window.  I've  heerd  about  all 
your  yap  I  kin  stand !  " 


1 86  Prairie  Folks 

Beckett  looked  down  at  the  floor  and  muttered  under 
his  breath.  Bacon  went  on,  with  savage  intensity  :  — 

"  I  was  born  south  of  Mason  and  Dixon's  line  m'self. 
I  ain't  got  no  p'ticler  love  for  niggers,  but  as  long  as 
they  go  about  peaceably  and  don't  trouble  me  I  ain't 
got  no  say  about  what  they  shan't  do.  As  for  equality 
—  I'd  a  damn  sight  rather  have  old  Eph  in  my  house 
than  you.  Now,  don't  let  me  hear  any  more  o'  your 
yap!" 

This  was  about  the  longest  speech  Bacon  ever  made, 
and  it  silenced  Beckett  so  far  as  any  public  utterance 
was  concerned,  but  thereafter  he  never  met  Eph  on  the 
road  or  passed  him  working  the  fields  without  cursing 
him  and  lashing  at  him  with  his  whip. 

Notwithstanding  the  kindness  of  the  people,  Eph  felt 
that  he  would  rather  live  alone,  so  in  his  second  year 
rented  a  little  farm  down  on  the  river  bottom,  and  fitted 
up  the  old  log  hut  there,  so  that  he  could  keep  house  by 
himself.  The  people  assisted  him  a  little  in  ploughing 
and  in  cutting  his  grain,  and  he  got  along  nicely.  The 
next  year  he  bought  a  bony  old  horse  and  a  noisy 
democrat  wagon,  and  felt  very  proud  of  it. 

Beckett  was  the  only  disturbing  factor  in  his  life.  He 
never  failed  to  stop  and  revile  him  as  he  drove  along 
on  his  way  to  Rock  River,  but  Uncle  Eph  never  com 
plained.  He  bore  it  all  in  silence. 

Bacon  and  Councill  returning  from  town  one  day, 
came  upon  Beckett  yelling  ferocious  threats  at  Uncle 
Eph,  who  was  working  quietly  in  his  garden,  not  hear 
ing,  apparently,  the  infuriate  howling  of  his  enemy. 


Black  Ephram  187 

When  they  came  near,  Beckett  drove  hastily  away. 
Councill  pulled  up,  and  Uncle  Eph  came  to  the  fence, 
smiling.  It  was  lonesome  down  there  on  the  flat,  and 
he  liked  to  have  folks  stop  and  chat. 

"  Good  evenin',  Mist'  Councill. 

"Good  evenin',  Mist'  Bacon;  fine  evenin'." 

"  Say,  Eph,  why  don't  you  go  out  and  whale  the  day 
lights  out  o'  that  old  skunk  ?  "  said  Councill. 

Uncle  Eph  looked  troubled.  "Well,  sah,  I  is 
tempted,  sho'ly.  I  ask  de  Lawd  to  help  me,  sah  j  else- 
wise  I  would,  sho'." 

"It  would  be  a  religious  duty,"  Councill  said.  "The 
next  time  he  comes  by  just  give  him  a  wheltin'  that 
he'll  remember." 

Uncle  Eph  changed  his  feet  a  time  or  two.  "  Well, 
Mist'  Councill,  I  feels  mighty  like  it,  I  do  assu'  you; 
but  I  don't  just  'xactly  know  what  folks  gwine  say." 

"  Oh,  that's  it,  is  it  ?  " 

"  Yessah.     You  see,  down  South  —  " 

Bacon  interrupted :  "  You  ain't  down  South ;  you're 
up  North.  If  you'll  thrash  the  pizen  out  o'  that  old 
whelp,  I'll  see  that  you  ain't  troubled  by  anybody  else 
afterward." 

"  I'll  stand  by  you,  too,"  Councill  said.  Eph's  face 
shone  with  a  sort  of  joyful  relief.  "Well,  sah,  you  can 
'pend  on  me,  sah.  He  won't  call  old  Eph  any  mo'  bad 
names.  De  Lawd  willun,  I'se  'bleeged  to  trounce  him 
de  very  nex'  time  he  come  along  an'  holleh." 

The  men  laughed  and  drove  on.  "I'd  like  to  see 
the  fun,"  said  Councill. 


1 88  Prairie  Folks 

Not  long  after  that  Beckett,  being  in  a  bad  mood, 
pulled  up  again  before  Eph's  gate  and  yelled  for  him  to 
come  out  and  take  his  medicine. 

Eph  was  in  the  barn  and  thought  to  keep  out  of 
sight,  but  at  last  he  grew  impatient  of  the  man's  voice 
and  came  to  the  door. 

"  You  go  'long.     Don'  stand  there  hollerin'." 

Beckett  grew  more  ferocious.  "  I'd  get  out  and  cut 
you  into  strips  for  a  cent,"  he  swore,  menacing  Eph 
with  the  whip. 

"  If  I  come  out  tha,  sah,  I  trounce  you  sho',"  Eph 
replied. 

Beckett  shook  his  whip  at  him.  u  You  will  ?  If  you 
dare  lay  hands  on  me  —  " 

Eph  kept  approaching.  "  You  sho'ly  do  try  me,"  he 
said. 

Beckett's  voice  changed.  "  If  you  come  within 
reach,  I'll  cut  your  heart  out,  you  black  dog.  What 
business  you  got  ?  Don't  you  come  nearer  —  " 

Uncle  Eph  still  approached.  "  I  ent  'fraid  of  yo' 
whip,"  he  said  with  a  calm  inflection.  He  was  al 
most  within  reach.  He  came  slowly,  with  a  look 
of  battle  in  his  eyes.  His  bare  neck  and  arms  glis 
tened  like  old  bronze  worn  with  handling.  There 
was  something  terrifying  in  his  steady  approach, 
unhurried,  but  relentless.  His  mind  was  made  up. 

Beckett  lashed  out  at  him  with  his  whip.  His  worn 
old  team,  accustomed  to  his  loud  voice,  did  not  lift  their 
heads.  Eph  leaped  suddenly  within  range. 

The  whip  came  down  once,  and  only  once,  on  the 


Black  Ephram  189 

black  man's  head.  A  sweeping  clutch  of  his  bear-like 
paw  and  Beckett  came  out  over  the  wheel  fighting  like 
a  wildcat,  and  the  two  men  went  to  the  ground  rolling 
over  and  over  in  battle. 

Now  the  negro's  voice  arose,  the  battle-gust  came 
into  his  throat,  and  the  murder-thirst  into  his  heart.  It 
seemed  as  if  he  could  crush  this  man  between  the  palms 
of  his  two  hands. 

"  Aooah  !  yo'  neber  hit  me  again,  yo'  old  Satan  —  yo' 
old  debbil." 

His  words  were  lost  in  the  deep  roll  of  his  growl. 
The  dust  arose  from  where  they  lay  rolling  and  striking. 
The  team  had  moved  off  down  the  road  a  little.  Blows, 
curses,  hoarse  breathing,  came  out  of  the  dust  cloud. 

At  length  Uncle  Eph  arose,  and  as  he  stood  looking 
down  at  his  quiescent  adversary  the  dust  of  battle  moved 
away  slowly  on  the  gentle  wind.  The  white  man  did 
not  rise  at  once.  He  was  stunned  and  bloody  and 
subdued.  He  got  up  at  last  and  turned  about  in  a 
daze,  looking  for  his  team.  As  he  picked  up  his  hat 
and  whip,  he  looked  at  Eph  sullenly,  menacingly, 
but  did  not  care  to  try  again.  As  he  walked  away 
he  looked  so  bedraggled  and  slouching  and  dusty 
that  Eph's  anger  turned  to  amusement.  His  teeth 
shone  first,  and  then  his  voice  gurgled  out  in  thick 
laughter. 

u  Yo'  suttenly  look  like  a  secon'  best  rooster,"  he 
said. 

Beckett  turned.  "  I'll  have  the  law  on  you,"  he 
said.  "  I'll  put  you  where  the  dogs  won't  bite  yeh." 


190  Prairie  Folks 

Eph  sobered.  The  law  held  strange  terrors  for  him. 
The  whip,  a  fist,  he  understood,  but  the  law  was  an 
unknown,  invisible,  incomprehensible  force.  He  stood 
in  silence  till  Beckett  climbed  into  his  wagon  and 
drove  away. 

The  law !  That  meant  a  white  man's  power. 
That  meant  a  rule  which  forever  went  against  the 
black  man.  He  had  known  many  individual  white 
people  who  were  good  and  fine.  He  loved  his  old 
masters.  They  had  both  been  kind  and  just ;  but  his 
understanding  of  law  was  warped  and  incomplete. 
It  was  an  intangible  enginery  which  the  white  man 
in  some  way  controlled  for  his  own  interest.  It  rep 
resented  in  some  way  the  difference  between  the  black 
and  the  white. 

Personally  he  felt  no  fear  of  any  living  man,  but 
this  strange  and  awful  power  of  the  law  terrorized  him, 
and  he  went  about  all  day  very  sober. 

A  general  laugh  went  round  the  country  when  the 
battle  became  known.  Practically  everybody  said  : 
"  Served  the  old  skeesix  right." 

This  gave  little  comfort  to  Eph,  however,  when  the 
Sheriff  rode  into  the  yard  a  couple  of  days  later  with 
a  warrant  for  him.  He  bowed  his  head  in  instant 
resignation,  and  his  face  was  pitiful  to  see.  "  Misto 
Shirf,  I  jest  want  feed  my  chickens  an'  shut  up  de 
house." 

"  Why,  of  course,"  said  the  Sheriff,  as  he  lounged 
in  the  buggy  seat. 

To  Eph  it  was  like  going  away  forever.      He  looked 


Black  Ephram  191 

at  his  crops,  his  chickens,  and  his  horse.  He  put  down 
a  big  pan  of  water  for  the  chickens  and  locked  the 
door  of  his  house  and  led  his  pony  out. 

"  I  jest  like  to  take  Ole  Ben  over  to  Misto  Bacon's, 
sah,  if  you  don't  mind." 

"Not  at  all.  Just  lead  him  behind.  You'll  be 
bailed  out  and  be  back  to-night  or  to-morrow.  So 
don't  worry." 

Bacon  was  hitched  up  ready  to  go  to  mill. 

"Hello,  Eph  !    Where  you  goun'  with  that  Sheriff?  " 

Eph  smiled  rather  pitifully.  "I  don't  know,  Misto 
Bacon.  I  jest  gwine  'long  o'  him." 

"  What's  up,  Sam  ? "  Bacon  said,  coming  to  the 
wagon  wheel. 

"  Old  Beckett  has  sworn  out  a  warrant  against  Eph 
for  'sault  and  battery." 

"  The  old  whelp.  You  ain't  mean  enough  to  serve 
that  warrant  on  an  old  nigger  ?  " 

"  Had  to  do  it,  Bill.  I  can't  pass  on  the  justice  of 
a  warrant." 

"  Who  issued  it  ?  " 

"  Brown." 

"Well,  I'll  go  right  down  to  see  Brown  about  it. 
It's  a  mean,  sneaking  trick.  I  told  Eph  I'd  stand  by 
him  if  he  whaled  Beckett,  and  I'll  do  it  if  it  takes  half 
my  farm." 

"He'll  need  a  bondsman,  sure;  or  he's  jugged,  you 
know." 

"Well,  I'll  see  about  that." 

Eph  was   deeply    relieved    to   have    Bacon   go  along 


192  Prairie  Folks 

with  him.  Bacon  made  him  tell  the  whole  story,  at 
which  they  all  roared.  Eph's  account  of  it  seemed 
very  funny,  though  he  did  not  intend  it  to  be  so. 

"  'N'  ye  wallered  him  good,  did  ye  ?  " 

"  I  sho'ly  did  trounce  him  to  my  best  capacities, 
sari,"  Eph  said,  in  answer. 

In  some  way  he  managed  to  put  before  Judge  Brown 
his  fear  of  the  law  ;  perhaps  it  was  in  his  gesture,  as 
he  bared  his  head  in  awe ;  perhaps  in  the  nervous 
fumbling  of  his  hands ;  certainly  in  some  way  he 
uttered  the  fear  and  awe  of  a  human  soul  to  whom 
law  has  always  meant  injustice,  bondage,  and  appro 
priation. 

The  bluff  old  lawyer  heard  Bacon  through,  and  then 
said,  in  his  judicial  tones:  — 

u  I'm  a  Democrat.  I  believed  in  buying  out  the 
slaves,  but  I  propose  to  see  justice  done.  The  law 
with  me  will  not  draw  the  color  line.  So  far  as  pos 
sible  I  have  always  made  law  an  instrument  of  justice 
and  liberty.  You  go  home  and  attend  to  your  affairs. 
If  Beckett  does  not  withdraw  his  charge,  you  must 
appear  in  November  and  stand  trial,  but  I  don't  think 
it  will  be  serious.  We'll  see  that  the  law  is  dealt  out 
with  impartial  hand.  Your  color  will  not  count." 

Bacon  winked  at  the  Judge,  and  said  :  "  I  think  we 
can  induce  Beckett  to  call  it  a  fair  fout  and  no  favor." 

The  Judge  remained  non-committal.  "  I  don't 
know  anything  about  that,  but  if  a  man  comes  in  here 
all  battered  up  and  swears  out  a  warrant,  I  must  issue 


Black  Ephram  193 

Eph  caught  the  tone  if  not  all  the  words  of  the 
Judge's  speech,  and  something  vast  and  splendid  came 
into  his  thought;  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  caught 
a  glimpse  of  freedom  under  law.  His  heart  swelled 
till  he  ached  with  a  wish  to  sob.  His  eyes  filled  with 
tears.  He  bowed  his  great  woolly  head  over  the  Judge's 
hand  with  the  gesture  of  a  slave. 

"  Don't  do  that,"  said  the  Judge,  sharply.  "  I'm 
not  doing  this  for  you  because  you're  black,  but  be 
cause  it's  the  law." 

On  the  way  home  he  sat  silent  beside  Bacon,  ex 
cept  now  and  then  when  he  broke  into  a  little  joyful 
crooning  phrase  or  uttered  some  religious  ejaculation. 

That  night  some  neighbors  passing  by  heard  him 
praying  in  his  cabin.  His  voice  rose  in  fervent  chant 
as  he  prayed  God  to  bless  the  Judge  and  Bacon  and 
all  the  good  white  folks  who  had  been  so  kind  to  him. 

And  as  the  listeners  —  unimaginative  farmer  folk  — 
rode  on,  they  felt  a  queer  lump  rising  in  their  throats. 
There  was  something  moving  in  the  voice  of  the  old 
black  man  chanting  praises  of  them  to  God,  as  he 
knelt  there  in  his  lonely  cabin  on  the  river  sands. 


194  Prairie  Folks 


ACROSS   THE   PICKET-LINE 

AFTER  we'd  been  a-chasin'  old  Hood 

And  penned  him  into  Atlanty, 
Uncle  Billy,  doggone  him,  stood 

Around  behind  us  t'  make  us  anty ; 
A-diggin'  dirt  and  a-cuttin'  ditches, 

F'r  days  and  days,  an'  top  o'  that, 
We  slep',  side-arms  in  our  britches, 

Ready  t'  fight  at  the  drop  o'  the  hat. 

Wai !     The  rebel  pickets  got  closer  'n'  closer 

Till  blame  near  we  could  almost  see 
The  kind  o'  fellers  the  Johnnies  was, 

An'  talk  as  easy  as  you  an'  me 
Out  in  the  field  here  ploughin'  corn, 

An'  gassin'  across  the  dividin'  line. 
Yessir !     An'  there  we'd  set  an'  trade  off  lies 

About  the  war,  and  provisions,  tell, 
Some  feller  'd  sing  out,  "  Hunt  y'r  holes  ! 

Give  the  last  man  sinjen'  hell ! " 

Wai !     Every  night  we  c'd  hear  'em  sing 

"  Old  Hundred,"  or  "  Salvation's  Free," 
An'  we'd  join  in  and  make  things  ring, 

An'  so  we  got  t'  know,  y'  see, 
Jest  when  the  Johnnies  meant  t'  shell 

'R  charge  next  day,  'r  spring  a  mine  ; 
For  when  they'd  plan'd  t'  give  us  hell 

They'd  sing  of  heaven  all  'long  the  line. 


Across  the  Picket-Line  195 

Fact !     Yessir,  sure's  y'r  born, 

I  never  see  the  singin'  fail, 
Always  brought  a  storm  next  day, 

With  bullets  flyin'  thick  as  hail, 
An'  them  there  Rebs  a-scramblin'  right 

Straight  up  to  our  blessed  eyes  — 
Teeth  gritted,  faces  white  — 

An'  yellin'  fit  to  raise  the  skies. 

'Fraid  ?     Not  by  a  darn  sight  !     They 

Didn't  know  what  that  word  meant. 
No  sir  —  they'd  jest  nacherly  pray, 

An'  wherever  a  man  'ud  go,  they  went ; 
They  wa'n't  no  discount  on  their  grit, 

And  I  don't  bear  'em  any  spite. 
We  met  like  men,  'an  settled  it, 

And  I  guess  they  think  it's  settled  right. 


THE   WAPSEYPINNICON   TIGER 


THE   WAPSEYPINNICON   TIGER 

IT  was  Saturday  night  in  Rock  River.  Teams  cov 
ered  with  the  dust  of  the  August  roads  stood  in  rows 
along  the  sidewalks.  Harvesting  was  in  full  drive,  and 
the  town  was  filled  with  nomads  from  the  South,  men 
who  had  worked  their  way  North  following  the  isother 
mal  line  of  ripening  wheat. 

The  farmers  had  driven  in  for  provisions,  their  hands 
had  come  with  them  for  an  evening's  outing.  The 
streets  swarmed  with  rough,  lawless  characters.  Few 
women  ventured  abroad,  but  bands  of  yelling  boys, 
feeling  the  unstable  equilibrium  of  the  atmosphere, 
fought  or  played,  up  and  down  before  the  saloons  which 
were  crowded  to  the  doors. 

The  better  class  of  settlers  hitched  up  and  drove 
away  before  nine  o'clock,  gathering  together  as  many 
of  their  hands  as  possible,  but  others  remained  to  see 
the  fun,  which  every  one  felt  to  be  coming. 

It  was  reported  that  the  "  Wapsey  gang"  was  in 
town.  The  Swedes  from  Rock  Run  were  also  well 
represented  down  at  Ole's  "  Hole  in  the  Wall."  The 
Vesey  boys  and  Steve  Nagle  had  been  seen,  and  last  and 
most  important,  Bill  Moriarity,  "  the  Wapsey  Tiger," 
was  down  at  the  red  saloon. 

Bill  was  brother  to  the  deputy  sheriff,  who  had  been 
in  his  day  the  most  feared  of  all  the  Wapsey  gang.  He 

199 


2OO  Prairie  Folks 

it  was  who  used  to  terrorize  the  constable,  and  make 
men  like  Steve  Nagle  quail  when,  on  his  infrequent 
sprees,  he  took  offence  at  the  sound  of  their  voices. 
He  dominated  the  gang,  and  ruled  as  if  with  naked 
sword  in  hand. 

By  the  advice  of  Dr.  Carver,  Jim  had  been  made 
constable  of  the  town.  The  Doctor  had  quoted  with 
great  effect  the  experience  of  Boston  in  making  the 
famous  crook,  Tukey,  marshal,  in  the  days  when 
thugs  ran  the  city  in  their  own  way.  From  being  con 
stable,  Jim  came  naturally  to  be  the  deputy  sheriff  of 
the  county  and  had  given  up  drink  entirely. 

Bill,  also  from  the  Wapsey  prairie,  was  quiet  enough 
ordinarily,  but  when  in  liquor  was  ferocious  as  a  pan 
ther.  At  such  times  no  one  dared  to  oppose  him  nor 
lay  hands  upon  him,  that  is,  no  one  but  his  brother,  the 
deputy.  Every  law-abiding  citizen  regretted  the  infre 
quent  visits  of  the  Wapsey  Tiger. 

Constable  Ranney,  a  tall,  mild-mannered  man,  grew 
more  and  more  nervous  as  the  night  drew  on  and  re 
ports  came  in  about  Bill.  He  kept  sedulously  out  of 
sight  after  eight  o'clock ;  in  fact,  he  went  to  the  mayor's 
office  for  comfort  and  reinforcement.  He  made  a  feeble 
effort  to  cover  his  flight  by  saying  to  several  of  the  un 
easy  citizens  on  the  street :  — 

"  If  I'm  wanted,  I'll  be  at  the  mayor's  office.  I'm 
going  up  to  consult  him." 

This  deceived  no  one.  Every  man  and  boy  in  Rock 
River  knew  that  Ranney  was  afraid  of  Steve  Nagle,  to 
say  nothing  of  Bill.  They  shouted  calls  at  him  as  he 


The  Wapseypinnicon  Tiger  201 

went  along  the  street,  but  they  could  not  blame  him 
very  much.  There  was  a  sort  of  horse  sense  in  keep 
ing  out  of  the  Tiger's  way. 

The  matter  was  being  discussed  in  the  mayor's  office. 
Ridings  was  there,  and  Judge  Brown,  and  two  or  three 
others.  Foster,  of  the  Saturday  Morning  Call,  took  a 
humorous  view  of  the  matter,  the  others  did  not.  Fos 
ter  quoted  a  line  or  two  while  sharpening  a  pencil  :  — 

"  Now,  '  whether  Roderigo  kill  Cassio,  or  Cassio 
Roderigo,  all  makes  my  gain  ; '  I'm  getting  news." 

"  We  may  pull  through  all  right  yet,"  said  the  Mayor, 
a  small  man  of  a  scholarly  turn  of  mind,  not  fitted  to 
cope  with  such  crises. 

"  Depends  on  how  soon  Bill  gets  whiskey  enough  to 
put  'im  to  sleep,"  said  Ridings,  one  of  the  councilmen. 

A  wild  volley  of  whoops  arose  on  the  street.  Ran- 
ney  turned  pale,  the  Mayor  started  up  in  his  chair, 
Ridings  set  his  lips  grimly. 

"  The  fun  begins,"  said  Foster.  "  Ranney,  why  ain't 
you  out  there  on  the  street  ?  You'll  miss  some 
thing." 

Ranney  gave  up  all  pretence.  "  I  can  hear  just  as 
well  a  little  further  off." 

Judge  Brown  cleared  his  mouth  of  tobacco. 

"  Mr.  Constable,  we  who  are  peaceable  and  not  of 
powerful  physical  organization  hire  you  to  fight  our 
battles  for  us.  Mr.  Mayor,  order  the  constable  to  the 
scene  of  carnage." 

The  Mayor  smiled  faintly.  "  Mr.  Constable,  you 
know  your  duty." 


Prairie  Folks 


"  All  too  well,"  said  Foster. 

Another  series  of  whoops  arose  mingled  with  maniacal 
laughter,  and  then  a  single  wild  voice  in  a  sort  of  chant. 

They  all  rushed  to  the  window  and  looked  out.  Up 
the  street,  clearly  outlined  in  the  brilliant  light  of  the 
moon,  came  the  Tiger.  He  walked  with  a  curious  ac 
tion  as  if  his  legs  were  made  of  steel  springs.  His  bare 
feet  glistened,  his  head  was  flung  back  in  a  wild  gesture. 
He  was  Red  Brian  defying  the  English  battle-line  on 
Bailey  Moor. 

"  Come  out,  ye  sons  o'  dogs,  all  o'  ye,  ye  white- 
livered  whelps.  Come  to  me  arrums,  come,  smell  oj 
me  fist."  He  leaped  in  the  air.  "  Come  down  out  o' 
that,"  he  snarled,  as  he  caught  sight  of  the  men  in  the 
mayor's  office. 

The  heads  disappeared,  and  the  crowd  on  the  street 
laughed,  but  the  Tiger  kept  on  waving  his  fist.  "  I  can 
whip  the  worruld." 

"  Constable,  arrest  that  man,"  commanded  the 
Mayor. 

"  I  can't  do  it,  y'r  honor,"  said  Ranney,  in  deep  dis 
tress. 

Ridings  broke  out  :  "  Things  have  come  to  a  narrow 
lane,  if  we  can't  control  the  streets  of  our  own  town. 
If  our  constable  can't  or  won't  do  his  duty  —  " 

Ranney,  nearly  sobbing  in  his  shame  and  fear, 
dragged  the  star  off  his  coat,  and  extended  it  to  the 
Mayor. 

"  Take  back  the  office,  I  don't  want  it.  I  didn't  go 
into  this  thing  to  arrest  grizzly  bears  nor  crazy  maniacs, 


The  Wapseypinnicon  Tiger  203 

for  three  dollars  a  day.  It's  all  very  well  for  you  fel 
lows  to  sit  here  and  order  me  to  go  and  arrest  that  in 
fernal  devil ;  go  do  it  yourself." 

He  flung  the  star  on  the  floor,  and  walked  toward  the 
back  stairway,  "  I'm  going  home." 

Foster  dryly  remarked  :  "  There's  a  certain  degree  of 
justice  in  what  Mr.  Ranney  says.  There  are  too  many 
commanding  officers  here  and  too  few  active  warriors. 
There's  just  one  man  in  this  country  who  can  arrest 
Bill  Moriarity." 

"  You  mean  Jim  ?  " 

"  Yes,  of  course." 

"  Jim's  in  Cedarville." 

u  Then  telegraph  him." 

u  I  telegraphed  him  an  hour  ago,"  said  the  Judge. 
"  I  knew  we  were  in  for  trouble.  He  ought  to  be  here 
soon  if  he  started  promptly." 

The  Mayor  sighed  with  relief.  "  Well  there's  noth 
ing  to  do  but  wait." 

They  looked  out  of  the  window  at  every  fresh  burst 
of  noise.  The  Tiger  still  paraded  up  and  down,  leap 
ing  into  the  air  occasionally  with  a  shrill  "  Wherroo  !  " 
He  had  the  weight  of  a  lion  and  the  activity  of  a  leop 
ard.  He  was  transformed  from  a  slouchy,  quietly 
humorous  farmer  into  a  demon.  Everybody  gave  way 
before  him,  and  behind  him  a  howling  mob  of  admir 
ing  friends  trailed.  Silence  came  only  when  he  led 
the  way  into  some  saloon. 

The  better  citizens  kept  dropping  in  at  the  mayor's 
office  to  ask  why  that  man  was  not  arrested.  The 


204  Prairie  Folks 

Mayor  cooled  each  one  off  by  saying,  u  I'll  deputize 
you  to  arrest  him,  if  you  wish." 

While  they  sat  waiting  they  heard  the  sound  of  hurry 
out  in  the  street,  then  a  word  of  command  that  brought 
them  to  a  halt. 

"  Here  comes  Jim  !  " 

Quick,  powerful  steps  were  heard  on  the  stairway, 
and  Jim  came  in.  He  was  of  moderate  height,  but  the 
girth  of  his  chest  was  enormous.  His  face  was  dark 
and  handsome.  His  eyes  had  something  placid  and  sor 
rowful  in  them.  His  drooping  mustache  half  concealed 
a  shapely  mouth.  Altogether  he  was  a  fine  Irish  type. 

"  Where  is  he  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  In  the  red  saloon,  just  now." 

"  Is  he  wild,  b'ys  ? "  Jim  asked,  in  a  hesitating 
way. 

They  felt  no  inclination  to  laugh. 

"  He  is  plumb  crazy." 

Jim  gave  a  groan  of  sorrow  and  dismay. 

"Murtherin'  divils !  What  a  task  I  have."  He 
took  out  his  big  clasp-knife  and  laid  it  down. 

"  There's  a  gang  with  him  too,"  said  Ridings. 

"  I  don't  moind  that,  it's  Billy,  poor  divil."  He 
laid  aside  his  revolver  and  took  off  his  coat. 

"It'll  be  desprit,  b'ys,"  he  said,  with  a  sad  quiver  in 
his  voice.  u  I  can't  shoot  him,  yer  anner.  It's  me 
duty  to  arrest  him,  an'  I  will,  but  it's  loike  embracin' 
a  lion  to  take  Billy  when  he's  dhrunk.  He'll  kill  me 
if  he  can,  if  he's  crazy,  but  I  can't  stroike  him  with  a 
weapon,  yer  anner." 


The  Wapseypinnicon  Tiger  205 

He  looked  sad  and  weak  as  he  went  out  the  door,  but 
they  knew  the  stuff  of  which  his  heart  was  made. 

"  If  he  isn't  too  dhrunk  he'll  come  along  when  I  lay 
me  hand  on  his  shouldher ;  if  he's  fightin'  dhrunk,  it's 
him  or  me,"  he  said  half  to  himself,  as  he  went  down 
the  street,  accompanied  by  Foster. 

"Wan  comfort,"  he  added,  in  the  same  musing  way, 
"  Billy  nivir  shoots.  It's  fists  wid  him." 

They  heard  a  wild  shouting  up  the  street,  where  the 
open  door  of  a  saloon  emptied  its  light  upon  the  dark. 

A  crowd  of  men  alternately  surged  in  and  out  of  the 
door,  as  if  they  moved  away  from  a  chained  wildcat 
making  plunges  to  the  length  of  his  chain.  As  they 
drew  near,  the  howl  of  the  drunken  man  could  be  heard 
as  he  raged  against  the  barkeeper,  who  stood  in  deadly 
terror  behind  his  bar  pleading  with  him.  He  tried  to 
assume  a  careless  voice. 

"Here,  take  all  ye  want.  That's  all  right,  have 
another  drink  —  it's  on  me.  That's  all  right  —  "  Bill 
stopped  suddenly  like  a  hound  scenting  game. 

"  Here's  Jim  ! "  was  the  cry.  "  Get  out  o'  the  way, 
here's  Jim." 

Jim  came  through  the  crowd,  his  big,  brown  eyes 
fixed  on  Bill's  wild  face.  The  sadness  in  his  face  as 
well  as  its  resolution  awed  the  crowd. 

"  Billy,  my  boy,  come  home,"  he  said  gently. 
"Come  home,  Billy,"  and  he  laid  his  hand  on  his 
brother's  shoulder. 

There  was  no  sign  of  relenting  in  Bill's  eyes.  He 
looked  astonished,  then  his  eyes  contracted  to  red  slits, 


206  Prairie  Folks 

his  mouth  squared  at  the  corners,  and  his  teeth  showed 
in  a  horrible  grin.  His  hand  spread  on  the  counter  like 
a  paw. 

"  To  hell  wid  ye  !  "  he  answered. 

"  Get  out  o'  me  way,"  said  Jim,  without  looking 
around.  The  crowd  fell  back,  leaving  a  clear  space. 

"  Come,  Billy,"  he  said  again,  but  in  a  different  tone. 
He  saw  a  madman  before  him.  With  a  quick,  clutch 
ing,  downward  jerk,  he  rolled  the  Tiger  to  the  floor  and 
fell  upon  him.  But  the  insane  man  rose  under  him 
with  a  bear-like  action,  and  forced  him  to  the  floor  on 
equal  terms. 

The  two  brothers  were  well  matched  in  strength,  but 
Jim,  fighting  because  it  was  his  duty,  was  hindered  by  his 
great  love  and  admiration  for  his  brother,  who  fought  to 
kill.  Jim  broke  loose  and  rose. 

Bill  sprang  at  him  like  a  cat  —  Jim's  left  fist  met  him 
and  rolled  him  on  the  floor. 

"  God  forgive  me  !  "  Jim  said,  "  I  nivir  struck  me 
brother  before." 

He  waited  for  the  fallen  man  to  rise.  Bill  seemed  to 
bound  from  the  ground.  Again  Jim  knocked  him  roll 
ing,  and  again  he  rose.  This  time  he  rose  with  a  knife 
in  his  hand. 

"  Ah  !  "  breathed  the  crowd. 

"  Shoot  him  !  "  said  the  barkeeper. 

"Keep  off!"  said  Jim.  A  new  look  came  into  his 
eyes.  He  was  fighting  for  his  life  now.  Again  he  met 
the  infuriate  with  his  fist,  but  the  man  fell  at  his  feet, 
throwing  him  sprawling.  Jim  whirled  upon  his  back, 


The  Wapseypinnicon  Tiger  207 

catching  Bill's  hand  in  a  terrible  grip.  The  blood  was 
running  from  a  gash  in  his  cheek. 

Over  and  over  the  two  men  rolled  in  the  blood  and 
sawdust.  Notwithstanding  their  great  bulk,  they  writhed 
with  the  bewildering  convolutions  of  cats.  Now  Jim 
came  to  the  top,  now  Bill,  but  always  that  right  hand 
gripped  the  murderous  wrist  of  the  hand  that  held  the 
knife.  Jim  fought  silently,  grimly.  The  brother 
uttered  short,  snarling  imprecations,  like  a  carnivorous 
animal  at  meat.  He  snapped  at  his  brother  with  open 
jaws. 

Again  and  again  some  volunteer  raised  a  chair  to 
strike  Bill,  but  Jim  said,  "  Lave  be."  His  pride  was 
touched.  He  would  conquer  him  alone  and  he  would 
not  allow  another  man  to  strike  his  brother. 

For  ten  minutes  this  struggle  continued,  and  then  Jim 
rose  and  sat  astride  the  Tiger,  who  lay  breathing  heavily, 
cursing,  raving,  under  his  breath. 

"  Handcuff  him  !  "  cried  the  crowd. 

Jim  shook  his  head.     "There  is  no  need,"  he  said. 

At  the  word  "  handcuff,"  the  struggle  began  again. 
Bill  wrenched  loose  suddenly  and  struck  Jim  again  with 
the  knife.  The  blow  fell  upon  his  collar-bone,  and  the 
blood  poured  forth  again.  Jim  caught  the  deadly  arm 
again  in  his  left  hand,  and,  lifting  his  terrible  right  hand, 
struck  a  blow  upon  the  side  of  his  brother's  head,  which 
laid  him  out  limp  and  still. 

"  Out  o'  me  way,  b'ys,"  he  said,  as  he  rose  holding 
the  limp  body  in  his  hands.  They  made  way  for  him, 
and  he  passed  out  into  the  street. 


208  Prairie  Folks 

A  shudder  seized  on  the  crowd.  Jim  was  covered 
with  sawdust  and  filth  from  the  floor.  His  face  was 
unrecognizable  by  reason  of  the  terrible  blows  with  fist 
and  knife  which  had  fallen  there,  and  his  shirt  was 
dripping  with  blood  also.  He  walked  into  the  middle 
of  the  road  with  the  stunned  man  held  in  his  hands. 
The  crowd  made  way  for  him  as  if  he  were  a  king. 
He  put  Bill  down  and  knelt  watchfully  beside  him. 

"Call  the  Mayor,"  he  said,  "I'll  have  a  word  with 
him." 

A  moment  later  and  the  Mayor  came  hurrying 
down. 

"  What  is  it,  Jim  ?  " 

He  lifted  a  wild,  sad  face  to  the  Mayor. 

"Y'r  anner,  I  ask  permission  to  take  Billy  home. 
God  knows  it  would  kill  him  to  wake  in  the  jail,  y'r 
anner.  The  b'y  dawn't  know  what  he's  doin'  at  all. 
He'll  be  near  dead  with  shame,  when  he  sees  the  mark 
he's  put  on  me.  If  he  wakes  in  jail,  'twill  break  the 
heart  of  'im.  Y'r  anner,  you  know  Billy,  when  the 
whiskey's  not  in  him,  he's  as  fine  a  man  as  iver  breathed 
the  breath  of  life.  May  I  take  him  home,  y'r  anner  ?  " 

The  Mayor,  deeply  moved,  nodded  his  head. 

u  Do  what  you  think  best,  Jim." 

"  God  bless  ye,  y'r  anner.  Will  somebody  find 
Billy's  team?" 

The  team  was  brought,  and  the  maniac  was  lifted  into 
the  wagon  like  a  log. 

Jim  climbed  in.  "  Give  me  the  lines,"  he  said  to  the 
man  in  the  seat. 


The  Wapseypinnicon  Tiger  209 

"  Shan't  I  go  with  ye,  Jim  ?  " 

"  Give  me,  I  say." 

The  man  surrendered  the  lines  and  leaped  out  of  the 
wagon. 

"  Good  night,  y'r  anner.     Good  night,  boys." 

The  wagon  moved  off  in  the  glorious  moonlight,  with 
Jim  sitting  beside  the  drink-crazed  man  who  lay  on  the 
bed  of  the  wagon  unbound,  save  by  the  grip  of  his 
brother's  relentless  right  hand. 


2io  Prairie  Folks 

COIN'    BACK   T'MORRER 

(In  the  City) 

I  TELL  ye,  Sue,  it  ain't  no  use, 

I  can't  stay,  and  I  won't. 
W'h  !  a  feller  'd  need  the  widder's  cruse 

T'  live  back  here  an'  stan'  the  brunt 
Of  all  expenses,  thick  and  thin  — 

Too  many  men  —  ain't  land  enough 
T'  swing  a  feller's  elbows  in, — 

I  s'pose  you'll  take  it  kind  o'  rough 
But  I'm  goin'  back  t'morrer ! 

It  ain't  no  use  t'  talk  t'  me 

Of  whut  some  other  feller  owns ; 
I  ain't  got  no  grip  at  all, 

His  fire  don't  warm  my  achin'  bones, 
An'  then  I'm  ust  t'  walkin'  where 

There  ain't  no  p'lice  'r  pavin'  stones,  — 
Of  course  you'll  think  I'm  mighty  sick, 

But  I'm  goin'  back  t'morrer ! 

Fact  is,  folks,  I  love  the  West ! 

They  ain't  no  other  place  like  home  — 
They  ain't  no  other  place  t'  rest, 

F'r  mother  'n  me  but  jest  oF  Rome  — 
Cedar  County,  up  Basswood  Run  — 

Lived  there  goin'  on  thirty  years 
Come  there  spring  o'  sixty-one  — 

An'  I'm  goin'  back  t'morrer ! 


Coin*  Back  T'morrer 

I  tell  ye,  things  looked  purty  wild 

On  that  there  prairie  then  ! 
We  hadn't  nary  chick  n'r  child, 

An'  we  buckled  down  to  work  like  men. 
Handsome  land  them  two  claims  was 

As  ever  lay  outdoors  !     Rich  an'  clean 
Of  brush  an'  sloos.     Y'r  Uncle  Daws, 

He  used  t'  say  God  done  his  best 
On  that  there  land  —  His  level  best. 

No,  I  jest  can't  stand  it  here, 

Nohow  —  ain't  room  to  swing  my  cap. 
Ye're  all  cooped  up  in  this  ere  flat, 

Jest  like  chickens  in  a  trap  — 
I'm  mighty  sorry,  Sue,  but  I 

Can't  stand  it,  an'  mother  can't, 
If  she  was  willing  w'y  I'd  try  — 

But  I  guess  we'll  go  t'morrer. 

'N'  when  we  jest  get  home  agin, 

Back  t'  Cedar  County,  back  t'  Rome, 
Back  t'  Basswood  Run  an'  borne, 

Won't  the  neighbors  jest  drop  in 
When  we  get  settled  down,  an'  grin, 

An'  all  shake  han's  —  an'  Deacon  White 
Drive  up  t'  lafF  that  laff  o'  hisn  — 

Mother,  let's  start  back  t'night ! 

The  corn  is  jest  a-rampin'  now, 
I  c'n  hear  the  leaves  a-russlin' 
As  they  twist  an'  swing  an'  bow, 


212  Prairie  Folks 

I  c'n  see  the  boys  a-husslin' 
In  the  medder  by  the  crick, 

Forkin'  hay  f  r  all  in  sight, 
An'  the  birds  an'  bees  s'  thick ! 

O  we  must  start  back  t'night ! 


AIDGEWISE   FEELIN'S 


AIDGEWISE   FEELIN'S 

A  FUNERAL  is  a  depressing  affair  under  the  best  circum 
stances,  but  a  funeral  in  a  lonely  farmhouse  in  March, 
the  roads  full  of  slush,  the  ragged  gray  clouds  leaping 
the  sullen  hills  like  eagles,  is  tragic. 

The  teams  arrived  splashed  with  mud,  the  women 
blue  with  cold  under  their  scanty  cotton-quilt  lap  robes, 
their  hats  set  awry  by  the  wind.  They  scurried  into 
the  house,  to  sit  and  shiver  in  the  best  room,  where  all 
the  chairs  that  could  contrive  to  stand  erect,  and  all  of 
any  sort  that  could  be  borrowed,  were  crammed  in 
together  to  seat  the  women  folks. 

The  men  drove  out  to  the  barn,  and  having  blanketed 
their  teams  with  lap  robes,  picked  their  way  through  the 
slush  of  the  yard  over  to  the  lee  side  of  the  haystack, 
where  the  pale  sun  occasionally  shone. 

They  spoke  of  "  diseased  "  Williams,  as  if  Diseased 
were  his  Christian  name.  They  whittled  shingles  or 
stalks  of  straw  as  they  talked. 

Sooner  or  later,  after  each  new  arrival,  they  branched 
off  upon  politics,  and  the  McKinley  Bill  was  handled 
gingerly.  If  any  one,  in  his  zeal,  raised  his  voice  above 
a  certain  pitch,  some  one  said  "  Hish  !  "  and  the  new 
comer's  voice  sank  again  to  that  abnormal  quiet  which 
falls  now  and  again  on  these  loud-voiced  folk  of  the 
wind  and  open  spaces. 

215 


216  Prairie  Folks 

The  boys  hung  around  the  kitchen  and  smoke-house, 
playing  sly  jokes  upon  each  other  in  order  to  provoke 
that  explosion  of  laughter  so  thoroughly  enjoyed  by  those 
who  can  laugh  noiselessly. 

A  snort  of  this  sort  brought  Deacon  Williams  out  to 
reprimand  them,  u  Boys,  boys,  you  should  have  more 
respect  for  the  dead." 

The  preacher  came.  The  choir  raised  a  wailing  chant 
for  the  dead,  but  the  group  by  the  haystack  did  not 
move. 

Occasionally  they  came  back,  after  talking  about 
seeding  and  the  price  of  hogs,  to  the  discussion  of  the 
dead  man's  affairs. 

"  I  s'pose  his  property  will  go  to  Emmy  and  Serry, 
half  and  half." 

"  I  expec'  so.  He  always  said  so,  an'  John  wa'n't  a 
man  to  whiffle  about  every  day." 

"  Well,  Emmy  won't  make  no  fuss,  but  if  Ike  don't 
git  more'n  his  half,  I'll  eat  the  greaser." 

"  Who's  ex-ecwtor  ?  " 

"  Deacon  Williams,  I  expect." 

"  Well,  the  Deacon's  a  slick  one,"  some  one  observed, 
as  if  that  were  an  excellent  quality  in  an  executor. 

"They  ain't  no  love  lost  between  Bill  Gray  and 
Harkey,  I  don't  expect." 

"  No,  I  don't  think  they  is." 

"  Ike  don't  seem  to  please  people.  It's  queer,  too. 
He  tries  awful  hard." 

The  voice  of  the  preacher  within,  raised  to  a  wild 
shout,  interrupted  them. 


Aidgewise  Feelin's  217 

u  The  Elder's  gettin'  warmed  up,"  said  one  of  the 
story-tellers,  pausing  in  his  talk.  "  And  so  I  told  Bill 
if  he  wanted  the  cord-wood  —  " 

The  sun  shone  warmer,  and  the  chickens  caw-cawed 
feebly.  The  colts  whinnied,  and  a  couple  of  dogs 
rolled  and  tumbled  in  wild  frolic,  while  the  voice  of 
the  preacher  sounded  dolefully  or  in  humming  mono 
tone. 

Meanwhile,  in  the  house,  in  the  best  room  and  in  the 
best  seats  near  the  coffin,  the  women,  in  their  black, 
worn  dresses,  with  wrinkled,  sallow  faces  and  gnarled 
hands,  sat  shivering.  Theirs  was  to  be  the  luxury  of 
the  ceremony. 

The  carpet  was  damp  and  muddy,  the  house  was  chill, 
and  the  damp  wind  filled  them  all  with  ague ;  but  they 
had  so  much  to  see  and  talk  about,  that  time  passed 
rapidly.  Each  one  entering  was  studied  critically  to 
see  whether  dress  and  deportment  were  proper  to  the 
occasion  or  not,  and  if  one  of  the  girls  smiled  a  little  as 
she  entered,  some  one  was  sure  to  whisper :  — 

"  Heartless  thing,  how  can  she  ?  " 

There  were  a  few  young  men,  only  enough  to  help 
out  on  the  singing,  and  they  remained  mainly  in  the 
kitchen  where  they  were  seen  occasionally  in  anxious 
consultation  with  Deacon  Williams. 

The  girls  looked  serious,  but  a  little  sly,  as  if  they 
could  smile  if  the  boys  looked  their  way  or  if  one  of 
the  old  women  should  cough  her  store  teeth  out. 

Upstairs  the  family  were  seated  in  solemn  silence,  the 
two  nieces,  Emma  and  Sarah,  and  Emma's  husband, 


2i 8  Prairie  Folks 

Harkey,  and  Sarah's  children  —  deceased  Williams  had 
no  wife.  These  people  sat  in  stony  immobility,  except 
when  Harkey  looked  at  his  watch,  and  said :  — 

"  Seem  slow  gitten  here." 

Occasionally  women  came  up  the  stairway  and  flung 
themselves  upon  the  necks  of  the  mourning  nieces,  who 
submitted  to  it  without  apparent  disgust  or  astonishment, 
and  sank  back  into  the  same  icy  calm  after  their  visitors 
had  "  straightened  their  things,"  and  retired  to  the  re 
served  seats  below. 

Deacon  Williams,  small,  quick,  with  sunny  blue-gray 
eyes  belying  the  gloomy  curve  of  his  mouth,  was  every 
where  ;  arranging  for  bearers,  selecting  hymns,  conferring 
with  the  family,  keeping  abstracted  old  women  off  the 
seats  reserved  for  the  mourners,  and  maintaining  an 
anxious  lookout  for  the  minister. 

The  Deacon  was  a  distant  relative  of  the  dead  man, 
and  it  was  generally  admitted  that  he  "  would  have  a 
time  of  it "  in  administering  upon  the  estate. 

At  last  the  word  was  whispered  about  that  the  Elder 
was  coming.  Word  was  sent  to  the  smoke-house  and 
to  the  haystack  to  call  the  stragglers  in.  They  came 
slowly,  and  finding  the  rooms  all  filled  considered  them 
selves  absolved  from  a  disagreeable  duty,  and  went  back 
to  the  sunny  side  of  the  haystack,  where  they  smoked 
their  pipes  in  ruminative  enjoyment. 

The  Elder,  upon  entering,  took  his  place  beside  the 
coffin,  the  foot  of  which  he  used  for  a  pulpit  on  which 
to  lay  his  Bible  and  his  hymn-book.  A  noise  of  whis 
pering,  rustling,  scraping  of  feet  arose  as  some  old  men 


Aidgewise  Feelin's  219 

crowded  in  among  the  women,  and  then  the  room  be 
came  silent. 

The  Elder  took  his  seat  and  glanced  round  upon  them 
all  with  solemn  unrecognizing  severity,  while  the  mourn 
ers  came  down  the  creaking  pine  stairway  in  proper  order 
of  procedure. 

Everybody  noticed  the  luxury  of  new  dresses  on  the 
nieces  and  the  new  suits  on  the  children.  Everybody 
knew  the  feeling  which  led  to  these  extravagances. 
Death,  after  all,  was  a  majestic  visitor,  and  money  was 
not  to  stand  in  the  way  of  a  decent  showing.  Some  of 
the  girls  smiled  slyly  at  Isaac's  gloves,  which  were  too 
small  and  would  go  only  halfway  on,  a  fact  he  tried  to 
conceal  by  keeping  his  hands  folded.  Each  boy  was 
provided  with  a  large  new  stiff  cotton  handkerchief,  which 
occupied  immense  space  in  outside  pockets,  crumpled  as 
they  were  into  a  rustling  ball  with  cruel  salient  angles 
like  a  Chinese  puzzle. 

The  Elder  had  attended  two  funerals  that  week,  and 
like  a  jaded  actor  came  lamely  to  his  work.  His  prayer 
was  not  entirely  satisfactory  to  the  older  people,  they 
had  expected  a  "  little  more  power." 

He  was  a  thin-faced  man,  with  weak  brown  eyes  and 
a  mouth  like  a  gopher,  that  is,  with  very  prominent  upper 
teeth.  His  black  coat  was  worn  and  shiny,  and  hung 
limply,  as  if  at  some  other  period  he  had  been  fatter,  or 
as  if  it  had  belonged  to  some  other  man. 

The  choir  with  instinctive  skill  had  selected  a  wailing 
hymn,  only  slightly  higher  in  development  than  the  chant 
of  the  Indians,  sweet,  plaintive  at  times,  barbaric  in  its 


22O  Prairie  Folks 

moving  cadences.  They  sang  it  well,  in  meditative 
march,  looking  out  of  the  windows  during  its  in 
terminable  length. 

Then  the  Elder  read  some  passages  of  the  Scripture 
in  his  "  funeral  voice,"  which  was  entirely  different  from 
his  "  marriage  voice  "  and  his  "  Sunday  voice."  It  had 
deep  cadences  in  it  and  chanting  inflections,  not  unlike 
the  negro  preachers  or  the  keeners  at  Irish  wakes. 

Then  he  gave  out  the  hymn,  which  all  joined  in  sing 
ing,  rising  to  their  feet  with  much  trouble.  After  they 
had  settled  down  again  he  took  out  a  large  carefully 
ironed  handkerchief  and  laid  it  on  the  coffin  as  who 
should  say,  "  If  you  have  tears,  prepare  to  shed  them 
now." 

The  absurdity  of  all  this  did  not  appear  to  his  listeners, 
though  they  well  knew  he  cared  very  little  about  the  dead 
man,  who  was  a  very  retiring  person. 

The  Elder  on  his  part  understood  that  his  audience 
was  before  him  for  the  pleasure  of  weeping,  for  the  de 
light  of  seeing  agonized  faces  and  hearing  wild  grief- 
laden  wailing.  They  were  there  to  feel  the  delicious 
creeping  thrill  of  horror  and  fear,  roused  by  the  presence 
of  the  corpse  and  the  near  shadow  of  the  hovering  angel 
of  death. 

The  Elder  led  off  by  some  purely  perfunctory  remarks 
about  the  deceased,  about  his  kindness,  and  his  honesty. 
This  caused  the  nieces  to  wipe  away  a  sparse  tear  or 
two,  and  he  was  encouraged  as  if  by  slight  applause. 
He  developed  as  usual  the  idea  that  in  the  midst  of  life 
we  are  in  death,  that  no  man  can  tell  when  his  time 


Aidgewise  Feelin's  221 

will  come,  He  told  two  or  three  grewsome  stories  of 
sudden  death.  His  voice  now  rose  in  a  wild  chant  now 
sank  to  a  hoarse  whisper. 

The  blowing  of  noses,  low  sobbings,  and  fervent 
amens  from  the  old  men  thickened  encouragingly,  and 
he  entered  upon  more  impassioned  flights.  His  voice, 
naturally  sonorous,  deepened  in  powerful  song  till  the 
men  seated  comfortably  on  their  haunches  out  by  the 
haystack  could  plainly  hear  his  words.  "  Oh,  my 
brethren,  what  will  you  do  in  that  last  day  ? " 

Sarah's  boys,  without  in  the  least  understanding  what 
it  all  meant,  began  to  weep  also  and  to  use  their  hand 
kerchiefs,  so  smooth  and  shining  they  were  useless  as 
so  much  legal-cap  writing  paper. 

Their  misery  would  have  been  enhanced  had  they 
known  that  out  in  the  wagon-shed  under  cover  of  the 
Elder's  voice  the  other  boys  were  having  a  game  of 
mummelly  peg  in  the  warm,  dry  ground.  Their  fresh 
young  souls  laughed  at  death  as  the  early  robins  out  in 
the  hedge  near  by  defied  the  winds  of  March. 

Having  harrowed  the  poor  sensation-loving  souls  as 
thoroughly  as  could  be  desired,  the  Elder  began  the  pro 
cess  of  u  letting  them  down  easy."  He  remembered 
that  the  Lord  was  merciful ;  that  the  deceased  could 
approach  him  with  confidence ;  that  there  was  a  life 
beyond  the  tomb,  a  life  of  eternal  rest  (the  allurement 
of  all  hard-working  humanity). 

Slowly  the  snuffling  and  sobbing  ceased,  the  handker 
chiefs  took  longer  and  longer  intervals  of  rest,  and  when 
in  conclusion  the  preacher  said,  u  Let  us  pray,"  the  old 


222  Prairie  Folks 

men  looked  at  each  other  with  fervent  satisfaction. 
a  It's  been  a  blessed  time  —  a  blessed  time !  " 

The  pretty  girl  who  sang  the  soprano  looked  very 
interesting  with  her  wet  eyelashes,  the  tears  stopped 
halfway  in  their  course  down  her  rounded  cheek.  The 
closing  hymn  promised  endless  peace  and  rest,  but  was 
voiced  in  the  same  tragic  and  hopeless  music  with  which 
the  service  opened. 

Deacon  Williams  came  out  to  say,  "  All  parties  desir 
ing  to  view  the  remains,  will  now  have  an  opportunity." 
He  had  the  hospitable  tone  of  a  host  inviting  his  guests 
in  to  dinner. 

Viewing  the  remains  was  considered  a  religious  duty, 
and  the  men  from  outside,  and  even  the  boys  from  be 
hind  the  smoke-house,  felt  constrained  to  come  in  and 
pass  in  shuddering  horror  before  the  still  face  whose 
breath  did  not  dim  the  glass  above  it.  Most  of  them 
hurried  by  the  box  with  only  a  swift  side  glance  down  at 
the  strange  thing  within. 

Then  the  bearers  lifted  the  coffin  and  slipped  it  into  the 
platform-spring  wagon,  which  was  backed  up  to  the 
door.  The  other  teams  loaded  up,  and  the  procession 
moved  off,  down  the  perilously  muddy  road  toward  the 
village  burying-ground. 

In  this  way  was  John  Williams,  a  hard-working,  hon 
orable  Welshman,  buried.  His  death  furnished  forth  a 
sombre,  dramatic  entertainment  such  as  he  himself  had 
ceremoniously  attended  many  times.  The  funeral  trot 
ters  whom  he  had  seen  at  every  funeral  in  the  valley 
were  now  in  at  his  death,  and  would  be  at  each  other's 


Aidgewise  Feelin's  223 

death,  until  the  black  and  yellow  earth  claimed  them 
all. 

A  ceremony  almost  as  interesting  to  the  gossips  as 
the  burial  was  the  reading  of  the  will,  to  which  only 
the  family  were  invited.  After  the  return  of  Emma, 
her  husband,  and  Sarah  from  the  cemetery,  Deacon 
Williams  read  the  dead  man's  bequests,  seated  in  the 
best  room,  which  was  still  littered  with  chairs  and  damp 
with  mud. 

The  will  was  simple  and  not  a  surprise  to  any  one. 
It  gave  equal  division  of  all  the  property  to  the  nieces. 

"  Well,  now,  when'll  we  have  the  settlement  ?  "  asked 
the  Deacon. 

"Just's  you  say,  Deacon,"  said  Emma,  meekly. 

"  Suit  yourself,"  said  Harkey ;  u  only  it  'ad  better 
come  soon.  Sooner  the  better  —  seedin's  coming  on." 

"  Well,  to-morrow  is  Friday,  why  not  Saturday  ?  " 

"  All  right,  Saturday."     All  agreed. 

As  Harkey  drove  off  down  the  road  he  said  to  his 
wife :  "  The  sooner  we  have  it,  the  fewer  things  '11  git 
carried  off.  The  Deacon  don't  favor  me  none,  and 
Bill  Gray  is  sweet  on  Serry,  and  he'll  bear  watchin'." 

The  Deacon  on  his  part  took  his  chin  in  his  fist  and 
looked  after  Harkey.  "Seemed  a  little  bit  anxious, 
'cordin'  to  my  notion,"  he  said,  with  a  smile. 


II 

SATURDAY  was  deliciously  warm  and  springlike,  the 
hens  woke  in  the  early  dawn  with  a  jocund  note  in 


224  Prairie  Folks 

their  throats,  and  the  young  cattle  frisked  about  the 
barn-yard,  moved  to  action  by  the  electrical  influences 
of  the  south  wind. 

"  Clear  as  a  bell  overhead,"  Deacon  Williams  said. 

But  Jack  Dunlap,  Sarah's  hand,  said,  "  Nobody  travels 
that  way." 

Long  before  dawn  the  noise  of  the  melting  water 
could  be  heard  running  with  musical  tinkle  under  the 
ice.  The  ponds  crashed  and  boomed  in  long  reverber 
ating  explosions,  as  the  sinking  water  heaved  it  up  and 
let  it  fall  with  crackling  roar;  flights  of  ducks  flashed 
over,  cackling  breathlessly  as  they  scurried  straight  into 
the  north. 

Deacon  and  Sarah  arrived  early  and  took  possession, 
for  Sarah  was  to  have  the  eighty  which  included  the 
house.  They  were  busy  getting  things  ready  for  the  par 
tition.  The  Deacon,  assisted  by  Jack,  the  hired  man, 
was  busy  hauling  the  machinery  out  of  the  shed  into  the 
open  air,  while  Sarah  and  a  couple  of  neighbors'  girls,  with 
skirts  tucked  up  and  towels  on  their  heads,  were  scour 
ing  up  pots  and  pans  and  dusting  furniture  in  the  kitchen. 

The  girls,  strong  and  handsome  in  their  unsapped 
animal  vigor,  enjoyed  the  innocent  display  of  their  bare 
arms  and  petticoats. 

People  from  Sand  Lake  passing  by  wondered  what 
was  going  on.  Gideon  Turner  had  the  courage  to  pull 
up  and  call  out,  for  the  satisfaction  of  his  wife :  — 

"  What's  going  on  here  this  fine  morning  ?  " 

"  Oh,  we're  goin'  to  settle  up  the  estate  !  "  said  Sarah. 
"  Why  !  how  de  do,  Mrs.  Turner  ?  " 


Aidgewise  Feelin's  225 

"  W'y,  it's  you,  is  it,  Serry  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  it's  me,  —  what  they  is  left  of  me.  I  been 
here  sence  six  o'clock.  I'm  getting  things  ready  for  the 
division.  Deacon  Williams  is  the  ex-eartor,  you  know." 

"  Aha  !     Less  see,  you  divide  equally,  I  hear." 

"  Near's  we  can  get  at  it.  Uncle  left  me  the  house 
eighty,  and  the  valley  eighty  to  Emmy.  Deacon's  goin' 
to  parcel  out  the  belongin's." 

Turner  looked  sly.     "  How'd  Harkey  feel  ?  " 

Sarah  smiled.  u  I  don't  know  and  care  less.  He'll 
make  trouble  if  he  can,  but  I  don't  see  how  he  can.  He 
agreed  to  have  the  Deacon  do  the  dividin',  and  he'll  have 
to  stand  by  it  so  far  as  I  can  see." 

Mrs.  Turner  looked  dubious.  "  Well,  you  know  Ike 
Harkey.  He  looks  as  though  sugar  wouldn't  melt  in 
his  mouth,  but  I  tell  you  I'd  hate  to  have  dealin's  with 
him." 

Turner  broke  in:  "Well,  we  must  be  movin'.  I 
s'pose  you'll  move  right  in  ? " 

"Yes.     Just  as  soon's  as  this  thing's  settled." 

"  Well,  good-by.     Come  up." 

"  You  come  down." 

Sarah  was  a  heavy,  good-natured  woman,  a  widow 
with  "  a  raft  of  children."  Probably  for  that  reason  her 
uncle  had  left  her  the  house,  which  was  large  and 
comfortable.  As  she  stood  looking  down  the  road, 
one  of  the  girls  came  out  to  the  gate.  She  was  a  plump, 
strong  creature,  a  neighbor's  girl  who  had  volunteered 
to  help. 

"  Anybody  coming  ?  " 
Q 


226  Prairie  Folks 

"  Yes.  I  guess  —  no,  it's  going  the  other  way.  Ain't 
it  a  nice  day  ?  " 

That  was  as  far  as  she  could  carry  the  utterance  of 
her  feeling,  but  all  the  morning  she  had  felt  the  wonder 
ful  power  of  the  air.  The  sun  had  risen  incredibly 
warm.  The  wind  was  in  the  south,  and  the  crackling, 
booming  roar  of  ice  in  the  ponds  and  along  the  river 
was  like  winter  letting  go  its  iron  grip  upon  the  land. 
Even  the  old  cows  shook  their  horns,  and  made  comical 
attempts  to  frisk  with  the  yearlings.  Sarah  knew  it  was 
foolish,  but  she  felt  like  a  girl  that  morning  —  and  Bill 
was  coming  up  the  road. 

In  the  midst  of  the  joy  of  the  spring  day  stood  the 
house,  desolate  and  empty,  out  of  which  its  owner  had 
been  carried  to  a  bed  in  the  cold,  clinging  clay  of  the 
little  burying-ground. 

The  girls  and  Sarah  worked  swiftly,  brushing,  clean 
ing,  setting  aside,  giving  little  thought  to  even  the  beauty 
of  the  morning,  which  entered  their  blood  unconsciously. 

"  Well,  how  goes  it  ?  "  asked  a  quick,  jovial  voice. 

The  girls  gave  screams  of  affected  fright. 

"  Why,  Deacon  !  You  nearly  scared  the  life  out  of 
us." 

Deacon  Williams  was  always  gallant. 

"  I  didn't  know  I  was  given  to  scaring  the  ladies,"  he 
said.  «  Well,  who's  here  ?  " 

"Nobody  but  us  so  far." 

"  Hain't  seen  nothing  o'  Harkey  ?  " 

"Not  a  thing.  He  sent  word  he'd  be  on  hand, 
though." 


Aidgewise  Feelin's  227 

"  M  — ,  well,  we've  got  the  machinery  invoiced. 
Guess  I'll  look  around  and  kind  o'  get  the  household 
things  in  my  mind's  eye,"  said  the  Deacon,  taking  on 
the  air  of  a  public  functionary. 

"  All  right.  We'll  have  everything  ready  here  in  a 
few  minutes." 

They  returned  to  work,  dusting  and  scrubbing.  The 
girls  with  their  banter  put  death  into  the  background 
as  an  obscure  and  infrequent  incident  of  old  age. 

Sarah  again  studied  the  road  down  the  Coolly. 

"  Well  there !  I  see  a  team  coming  up  the  Coolly 
now  ;  wonder  if  it's  Emmy." 

"Looks  more  like  Bill  Gray's  team,"  said  one  of  the 
girls,  looking  slyly  at  Sarah,  who  grew  very  red. 

"  Oh,  you're  too  sharp,  ain't  you  ? " 

It  was  perfectly  ridiculous  (to  the  young  people)  to 
see  these  middle-aged  lovers  courting  like  sixteen-year- 
olds,  and  they  had  no  mercy  on  either  Bill  or  Sarah. 

Bill  drove  up  in  leisurely  way,  his  horses  steaming, 
his  wagon-wheels  loaded  with  mud.  Mrs.  Gray  was 
with  him,  her  jolly  face  shining  like  the  morning  sun. 

"  Hello,  folkses,  are  you  all  here  ?  " 

ct  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Gray,"  said  the  Deacon,  ap 
proaching  to  help  her  out.  "  Hello,  Bill,  nice  morning." 

Bill  looked  at  Sarah  for  a  moment.  "  Bully  good," 
he  said,  leaving  his  mother  to  scramble  down  the  wagon- 
wheel  alone  —  at  least  so  far  as  he  was  concerned,  but 
the  Deacon  stood  below  courageously. 

Mrs.  Gray  cried  out  in  her  loud  good  humor :  "  Look 
out,  Deacon,  don't  git  too  near  me  —  if  I  should  fall  on 


228  Prairie  Folks 

you  there  wouldn't  be  a  grease  spot  left.  There  !  I'm 
all  right  now,"  she  said,  having  reached  ground  without 
accident.  She  shook  her  dress  and  looked  briskly 
around.  "  Wai,  what  you  done,  anyway  ?  Emmy's 
folks  come  yet  ?  " 

"  No,  but  I  guess  that's  them  comin'  now.  I  hope 
Ike  won't  come,  though." 

Mrs.  Gray  stared  at  the  Deacon.     "  Why  not  ?  " 

"Well,  he's  just  sure  to  make  a  fuss,"  said  Jack, 
"he's  so  afraid  he  won't  get  his  share." 

Bill  chewed  on  a  straw  and  looked  at  Sarah  abstract 
edly. 

"  Well,  what's  t'  be  done  ? "  inquired  Mrs.  Gray, 
after  a  pause. 

"  Can't  do  much  till  Emmy  gets  here,"  said  Sarah. 

"  Oh,  I  guess  we  can.  Bill,  you  put  out  y'r  team, 
we  won't  get  away  'fore  dinner." 

The  men  drove  off  to  the  barn,  leaving  the  women  to 
pick  their  way  on  chips  and  strips  of  board  laid  in  the 
mud,  to  the  safety  of  the  chip-pile,  and  thence  to  the 
kitchen,  which  was  desolately  littered  with  utensils. 

Deacon  assumed  command  with  the  same  alertness, 
and  with  the  same  sunny  gleam  in  his  eye,  with  which 
he  directed  the  funeral  a  few  days  before. 

"  Now,  Bill,  put  out  your  team  and  help  Jack  and 
me  pen  them  hogs.  Women  folks  '11  git  things  ready 
here." 

Emma  came  at  last,  driven  by  Harkey's  brother  and 
his  hired  man.  They  were  both  brawny  fellows,  rude 
and  irritable,  and  the  Deacon  lifted  his  eyebrows  and 


Aidgewise  Feelin's  229 

whistled  when  he  saw  them  drive  in  with  a  lumber 
wagon. 

The  women  swarmed  out  to  greet  Emma,  who  was 
a  thin,  irritable,  feeble  woman. 

"  Better  late  than  never.  Where's  Ike  ?  "  inquired 
Mrs.  Gray. 

u  Well,  he  —  couldn't  git  away  very  well  —  he's  got 
t'  clean  up  some  seed-oats,"  she  answered  nervously. 
After  the  men  drove  off,  however,  she  added  :  "  He 
thought  he  hadn't  ought  to  come;  he  didn't  want  to 
cause  no  aidgewise  feelin's,  so  he  thought  he  hadn't 
better  come  —  he'd  just  leave  it  to  you,  Deacon." 

The  Deacon  said,  «  All  right,  all  right !  We'll  fix  it 
up  !  "  but  he  didn't  feel  so  sure  of  it  after  that,  though 
he  set  to  work  bravely. 

The  sun,  growing  warmer,  fell  with  pleasant  gleam 
around  the  kitchen  door  and  around  the  chip-pile  where 
the  hens  were  burrowing.  The  men  worked  in  their 
shirt-sleeves. 

"  Well,  now,  we'll  share  the  furniture  an'  stuff  next," 
said  the  Deacon,  looking  around  upon  his  little  interested 
semicircle  of  spectators.  "  Now,  put  Emmy's  things 
over  there  and  Serry's  things  over  here.  I'll  call  'em  off, 
and,  if  they's  no  objection,  you  girls  can  pass  'em  over." 

He  cleared  his  throat  and  began  in  the  voice  of  one 
in  authority :  — 

"Thirteen  pans,  six  to  Emmy,  seven  to  Serry ;  "  then 
hastened  to  add  :  "  I'll  balance  that  by  giving  the  biggest 
of  the  two  kittles  to  Emmy.  Rollin'  pin  and  cake  board 
to  Serry,  two  flat-irons  to  Emmy,  small  tub  to  Emmy, 


230  Prairie  Folks 

large  one  to  Serry,  balanced  by  the  tin  water  pail. 
Dozen  clo'se-pins ;  half  an'  half,  six  o'  one,  half-dozen 
t'other,"  he  said  with  a  smile  at  his  own  joke,  while 
the  others  actively  placed  the  articles  in  separate  piles. 

"  Stove  to  Serry,  because  she  has  the  house,  bureau 
to  Emmy." 

At  this  point  Mrs.  Gray  said,  "  I  guess  that  ain't 
quite  even,  Deacon  ;  the  bureau  ain't  worth  much." 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  that's  all  right !  Let  her  have  it," 
Emma  protested  nervously. 

"  Give  her  an  extry  tick,  anyway,"  said  Sarah,  not  to 
be  outdone  in  magnanimity. 

"  Settle  that  between  ye,"  said  the  Deacon. 

He  warmed  to  his  work  now,  and  towels,  pans, 
crockery,  brooms,  mirrors,  pillows,  and  bedticks  were 
rapidly  set  aside  in  two  groups  on  the  soft  soil.  The 
poverty  of  the  home  could  best  be  seen  in  the  display 
of  its  pitiful  furniture. 

The  two  nieces  looked  on  impassively,  standing  side 
by  side.  The  men  came  to  move  the  bureau  and  other 
heavy  things  and  looked  on,  while  the  lighter  things 
were  being  handed  over  by  Mrs.  Gray  and  the  girls. 

At  noon  they  sat  down  in  the  empty  kitchen  and 
ate  a  cold  snack  —  at  least,  the  women  took  seats,  the 
men  stood  around  and  lunched  on  hunks  of  boiled 
beef  and  slices  of  bread.  There  was  an  air  of  con 
straint  upon  the  male  portion  of  the  party  not  shared 
by  Mrs.  Gray  and  the  girls. 

"Well,  that  settles  things  in  the  house,"  beamed 
the  Deacon  as  he  came  out  with  the  women  trailing 


Aidgewise  Feelin's 

behind  him;  u  an'  now  in  about  two  jerks  of  a  dead 
lamb's  tail,  we'll  git  at  the  things  out  in  the  barn." 

u  Wai,  we  don't  know  much  about  machines  and 
things,  but  I  guess  we'd  better  go  out  and  keep  you 
men  from  fightin',"  said  Mrs.  Gray,  shaking  with  fun ; 
"  Ike  didn't  come  because  he  didn't  want  to  make  any 
trouble,  but  I  guess  he  might  just  as  well  'a'  come  as 
send  two  such  critters  as  Jim  'n'  Hank." 

The  women  laughed  at  her  frankness,  and  in  very 
good  humor  they  all  went  out  to  the  barn-yard. 

"  Now,  these  things  can't  be  laid  out  fast  as  I  call 
'em  off,  but  we'll  do  the  best  we  can." 

"  Let's  try  the  stawk  first,"  said  Jim. 

The  women  stood  around  with  shawls  pinned  over 
their  heads  while  the  division  of  the  stock  went  for 
ward.  The  young  men  came  often  within  chaffing 
distance  of  the  girls. 

There  were  nine  shotes  nearly  of  a  size,  and  the 
Deacon  said,  "  I'll  give  Serry  the  odd  shote." 

"Why  so?  "  asked  Jim  Harkey,  a  sullen-faced  man 
of  thirty. 

"  Because  a  shote  is  hard  to  carry  off  and  I  can 
balance  —  " 

"Well,  I  guess  you  can  balance  f'r  Em  'bout  as 
well  as  Pr  Serry." 

The  Deacon  was  willing  to  yield  a  point.  "  Any 
objection,  Bill  ?  If  not,  why  —  " 

"  Nope,  let  her  go,"  said  Bill. 

"  What  'ave  you  got  to  say  'bout  it  ?  "  asked  Jim, 
insolently. 


232  Prairie  Folks 

Bill  turned  his  slow  bulk.  "  I  guess  I've  a  good 
'eal  to  say  —  haven't  I,  Serry  ?  " 

Sarah  reddened,  but  stood  beside  him  bravely.  "I 
guess  you  have,  Bill,  about  as  much  as  7  have."  There 
was  a  moment  of  dramatic  tension  and  the  girls  tingled 
with  sympathy. 

"  Let  'er  go,"  said  Bill,  splitting  a  straw  with  his 
knife.  He  had  not  proposed  to  Sarah  before  and  he 
felt  an  unusual  exaltation  to  think  it  came  so  easy 
after  all. 

When  they  reached  the  cattle,  Jim  objected  to  strik 
ing  a  balance  with  a  "  farrer  cow,"  and  threw  the 
Deacon's  nice  calculation  all  out  of  joint. 

"  Let  it  go,  Jim,"  pleaded  Emma. 

"I  won't  do  it,"  Ike  said  —  I  mean  I  know  he  don't 
want  no  farrer  cow,  he's  got  two  now." 

The  Deacon  was  a  little  nettled.  "I  guess  that's 
going  to  stand,"  he  said  sharply. 

Jim  swore  a  little  but  gave  in,  and  came  back  with 
an  access  of  ill  humor  on  a  division  of  the  horses. 

u  But  I've  give  you  the  four  heavy  horses  to  balance 
the  four  others  and  the  two-year-old,"  said  the  Deacon. 

"  I'll  be  damned  if  I  stand  that,"  said  Jim. 

"  I  guess  you'll  have  to,"  said  the  Deacon. 

Emma  pleaded,  "  Let  it  go,  Jim,  don't  make  a 
fuss." 

Jim  raged  on,  u  I'll  be  cawn-demmed  if  I'll  stand 
it.  I  don't  —  Ike  don't  want  them  spavined  old  crows; 
they're  all  ring-boned  and  got  the  heaves."  His  long 
repressed  ill-nature  broke  out. 


Aidgewise  Feelin's  233 

"  Toh,  toh  ! "  said  the  Deacon,  "  Don't  kick  over 
the  traces  now.  We'll  fix  it  up  some  way." 

Emma  tried  to  stop  Jim,  but  he  shook  her  off  and 
continued  to  walk  back  and  forth  behind  the  horses 
munching  on  quietly,  unconscious  of  any  dispute 
about  their  value. 

Bill  sat  on  the  oat  box  in  his  hulking  way,  his 
heels  thumping  a  tune,  his  small  gray  eyes  watching 
the  angry  man. 

"Don't  make  a  darn  fool  of  yourself,"  he  said 
placidly. 

Jim  turned,  glad  of  the  chance  for  a  row,  "  You 
better  keep  out  of  this." 

Bill  continued  to  thump,  the  palms  of  his  big  hands 
resting  on  the  edge  of  the  box.  "  I'm  in  it,"  he  said 
conclusively. 

"Well,  you  git  out  of  it !  I  ain't  goin'  to  be  bull 
dozed  —  that  ain't  what  I  come  here  for." 

"  No,  I  see  it  ain't,"  said  Bill.  "  If  you're  after  a 
row  you  can  have  it  right  here.  You  won't  find  a  better 
place." 

"There,  there,"  urged  the  Deacon.  "What's  the 
use  ?  Keep  cool  and  don't  tear  your  shirts." 

Mrs.  Gray  went  up  to  Jim  and  took  him  by  the  arm. 
"You  need  a  good  spankin'  to  make  you  good-natured," 
she  said.  "  I  think  the  Deacon  has  done  first  rate,  and 
you  ought  'o  —  " 

"  Let  go  o'  me,"  he  snarled,  raising  his  hand  as  if  to 
strike  her. 

Bill's  big  boot  lunged  out,  catching  Harkey  in  the  ribs, 


234  Prairie  Folks 

and  if  the  Deacon  had  not  sprung  to  his  assistance  Jim 
would  have  been  trampled  to  pieces  by  the  scared  horse 
under  whose  feet  he  found  himself.  He  was  wild  with 
dizzy,  breathless  rage. 

"  Who  hit  me  ?  "   he  demanded. 

Bill's  shapeless  hulk  straightened  up  and  stood  beside 
him  as  if  his  pink  flesh  had  suddenly  turned  to  oak. 
Out  of  his  fat  cheeks  his  gray  eyes  glared. 

"  I  did.     Want  another  ?  " 

The  Deacon  and  Jack  came  between  and  prevented 
the  encounter  which  would  have  immediately  followed. 
Bill  went  on  :  — 

"  They  cain't  no  man  lay  a  hand  on  my  mother  and 
live  long  after  it."  He  was  thoroughly  awake  now. 
There  was  no  slouch  to  his  action  at  that  moment,  and 
Jim  was  secretly  pleased  to  have  the  encounter  go  by. 

"  You  come  here  for  a  fuss  and  you  can  have  it,  both 
of  you,"  Bill  went  on  in  unusual  eloquence.  "  Deacon's 
tried  to  do  the  square  thing,  Emmy's  tried  to  do  the 
square  thing,  and  Serry's  kep'  quiet,  but  you've  been 
sour  and  ugly  the  whole  time,  and  now  it's  goin'  to 
stop." 

"This  ain't  the  last  of  this  thing,"  said  Jim. 

"  You  never'll  have  a  better  time,"  said  Bill. 

Mrs.  Gray  and  the  Deacon  turned  in  now  to  quiet 
Bill,  and  the  settlement  went  on.  Jim  kept  close  watch 
on  the  proceedings,  and  muttered  his  dissent  to  his 
friends,  but  was  careful  not  to  provoke  Bill  further. 

In  dividing  the  harnesses  they  came  upon  a  cow-bell 
hanging  on  a  nail.  The  Deacon  jingled  it  as  he  passed. 


Aidgewise  Feelin's  235 

"  Goes  with  the  bell-cow,"  he  said,  and  nothing  further 
was  said  of  it.  Jim  apparently  did  not  consider  it  worth 
quarrelling  about. 

At  last  the  work  was  done,  a  terribly  hard  day's  work. 
The  machines  and  utensils  were  piled  in  separate  places, 
the  cattle  separated,  and  the  grain  measured.  As  they 
were  about  to  leave,  the  Deacon  said  finally :  — 

"  If  there's  any  complaint  to  make,  let's  have  it  right 
now.  I  want  this  settlement  to  be  a  settlement.  Is 
everybody  satisfied  ?  " 

"  I  am,"  said  Emmy.     "  Ain't  you,  Serry  ?  " 

u  Why,  of  course,"  said  Sarah,  who  was  a  little  slower 
of  speech.  "  I  think  the  Deacon  has  done  first  rate.  I 
ain't  a  word  of  fault  to  find,  have  you,  Bill  ? " 

"  Nope,  not  an  ioty,"  said  Bill,  readily. 

Jim  did  not  agree  in  so  many  words,  but,  as  he  said 
nothing,  the  Deacon  ended  :  — 

"  Well,  that  settles  it.  It  ain't  goin'  to  rain,  so  you 
can  leave  these  things  right  here  till  Monday.  I  guess 
I'll  be  gettin'  out  for  home.  Good  evening,  every 
body." 

Emma  drove  away  down  the  road  with  Jim,  but 
Sarah  remained  to  straighten  up  the  house.  Harkey's 
hired  hand  went  home  with  Dade  Walker  who  consid 
ered  that  walk  the  pleasant  finish  to  a  very  interesting 
day's  work.  She  sympathized  for  the  time  with  the 
Harkey  faction. 

Sunday  forenoon,  when  Bill  and  Sarah  drove  up  to 
the  farm  to  put  things  in  order  in  the  house,  they  found 
Ike  Harkey  walking  around  with  that  queer  side  glance 


236  Prairie   Folks 

he  had,  studying  the  piles  of  furniture,  and  mentally 
weighing  the  pigs. 

He  greeted  them  smoothly  :  "  Yes,  yes,  Fm  purrfickly 
satisfied,  purrfickly  !  Not  a  word  to  say  —  better'n  I 
expected,"  he  added. 

Bill  was  not  quite  keen  enough  to  perceive  the  insult 
which  lay  in  that  final  clause,  and  Sarah  dared  not  inform 
him  for  fear  of  trouble. 

As  Harkey  drove  away,  however,  Bill  had  a  dim  feel 
ing  of  dissatisfaction  with  him. 

"  He's  too  gol-dang  polite,  that  feller  is  ;  I  don't  like 
such  butter-mouth  chaps  —  they'd  steal  the  cents  ofF'n  a 
dead  nigger's  eyes." 

Ill 

THE  second  Sunday  after  the  partition  of  goods  the 
entire  Coolly  turned  out  to  church  in  spite  of  the  muddy 
road.  The  men,  after  driving  up  to  the  door  of  the 
little  white  church  and  helping  the  women  to  alight, 
drove  out  to  the  sheds  along  the  fence  and  gathered  in 
knots  beside  their  wagons  in  the  warm  spring  sun.  It 
was  very  pleasant  there,  and  the  men  leaned  with  relaxed 
muscles  upon  the  wagon-wheels,  or  sat  on  the  fence 
with  jack-knives  in  hand.  The  horses,  weary  with  six 
days  seeding,  slept  with  closed  eyes  and  drooping  lips. 
Generally  the  talk  was  upon  spring  work,  each  man 
bragging  of  the  number  of  acres  he  had  sown  during  the 
week,  but  this  morning  the  talk  was  all  about  the  divi 
sion  which  had  come  between  the  nieces  of  "  deceased 
Williams."  They  discussed  it  slowly  as  one  might  eat 


Aidgewise   Feelin's  237 

a  choice  pudding  in  order  to  extract  the  flavor  from  each 
spoonful. 

"What  is  it  all  about,  anyhow  ?  "  asked  Jim  Cranby. 
"I  ain't  heard  nothing  about  it."  He  had  stood  in 
open-mouthed  perplexity  trying  to  catch  a  clew.  Com 
ing  late,  he  found  it  baffling. 

"  That  shows  where  he  lives ;  a  man  might  as  well 
live  in  a  well  as  up  in  Molasses  Gap,"  said  one  of  the 
younger  men,  pointing  up  to  the  Coolly.  "  Why,  Ike 
Harkey  is  kicking  about  the  six  shotes  the  Deacon  put 
off  on  him." 

"  No,  it  wasn't  the  shotes,  it  was  a  farrer  cow,"  put 
in  Clint  Stone. 

"  Well,  /  heard  it  was  a  shote." 

"  So  did  I,"  said  another. 

"  Well,  Bill  Gray  told  Jinks  Ike  had  stole  a  cow-bell 
that  belonged  to  the  black  farrer  cow,"  said  another  late 
comer. 

"  Stole  a  cow-bell,"  and  they  all  drew  closer  together. 
This  was  really  worth  while  ! 

"  Yes,  sir ;  Jinks  told  me  he  heard  Bill  say  so  yester 
day.  That's  the  way  I  heard  it." 

"  Well,  I'll  be  cussed,  if  that  ain't  small  business  for 
Ike  Harkey  !  " 

"  How  did  it  happen  ?  "  asked  Cranby,  with  sharp 
ened  appetite. 

"  Well,  I  didn't  hear  no  p'rtic'lars,  but  it  seems  the 
bell  was  hangin'  on  a  peg  in  the  barn,  and  when  they 
got  home  from  church  it  was  gone,  hide  an'  hair.  Bill 
is  dead  sure  Ike  took  it." 


238  Prairie  Folks 

"  Say,  there'll  be  fun  over  that  yet,  won't  they,"  said 
one  of  the  fellows,  with  a  grin. 

"  Well,  Ike  better  keep  out  of  Bill's  way,  that's  all." 

"  Well  —  I  ain't  takin'  sides.  Some  young'un  may 
have  took  it." 

"  Well,  let's  go  in,  boys  ;  I  see  the  Elder's  come.  By 
gum,  there's  Harkey  !  "  They  all  looked  toward  Har- 
key,  who  had  just  driven  up  to  the  door. 

Harkey  came  into  church  holding  his  smooth,  serious 
face  a  little  one  side,  in  his  usual  way,  quiet  and  dig 
nified,  as  if  he  were  living  up  to  his  Sunday  suit  of 
clothes.  He  seemed  to  be  unconscious  of  the  attitude 
in  which  he  stood  toward  most  of  his  neighbors. 

Bill  and  Sarah  were  not  present,  and  that  gave  addi 
tional  color  to  the  story  of  trouble  between  the  sisters. 

After  the  sermon  Deacon  Harkey  led  the  Sunday 
School,  and  the  critics  of  his  action  were  impressed 
more  than  usual  with  his  smooth  and  quiet  utterance. 
Emma  seemed  more  than  ordinarily  worn  and  dispirited. 

It  was  perfectly  natural  that  Mrs.  Gray  should  be  the 
last  person  to  know  of  the  division  which  had  slowly 
set  in  between  the  two  sisters  and  their  factions.  Chari 
table  and  guileless  herself,  it  was  difficult  for  her  to 
conceive  of  slander  and  envy. 

Nevertheless,  a  division  had  come  about,  slowly,  but 
decisively.  The  entire  Coolly  was  involved  in  the  dis 
cussion  before  Mrs.  Gray  gave  it  any  serious  attention, 
but  one  day,  when  Sarah  came  in  upon  her  and  poured 
out  a  mingled  flood  of  sorrow  and  invective,  the  good 
soul  was  aghast. 


Aidgewise  Feelin's  239 

"  Well,  well,  I  swan  !  There,  there  !  I  wouldn't 
make  so  much  fuss  over  it  !  "  she  said,  stripping  her 
hands  out  of  the  biscuit  dough  in  order  to  go  over 
and  pat  Sarah  on  the  shoulder.  "  After  all  that  to-do 
gettin'  settled,  seems  's  if  you  ought  'o  stay  settled. 
Good  land  !  It  ain't  anything  to  have  a  fuss  over,  any 
way  !  " 

u  But  it  is  our  cow-bell.  It  belonged  on  the  black 
farrer  cow,  that  Jim  turned  his  nose  up  at,  and  he 
sneaked  around  and  got  it  just  to  spite  us." 

"  Oh,  I  guess  not,"  she  replied  incredulously. 

"  Well,  he  did ;  and  Emmy  put  him  up  to  it,  and  I 
know  she  did,"  said  Sarah  in  a  lamentable  voice. 

"  Sary  Ann,"  said  Mrs.  Gray,  as  sharply  as  any  one 
ever  heard  her  speak,  "  that's  a  pretty  way  to  talk 
about  your  sister,  ain't  it  ?  " 

"Well,  Mrs.  Jim  Harkey  said  —  " 

"  You  never  mind  what  Mrs.  Jim  Harkey  said ;  she's 
a  snoop  and  everybody  knows  it." 

"  But  she  wouldn't  tell  that,  if  it  weren't  so." 

"  Well,  I  tell  you,  I  wouldn't  pay  no  attention  to 
what  she  said,  and  I  wouldn't  make  such  a  fuss  over  an 
old  cow-bell,  anyway." 

"  But  the  cow-bell  is  only  the  starting  point ;  she 
ain't  been  near  the  house  since,  and  she  says  all  kinds 
of  mean,  nasty  things  about  us." 

u  All  comes  through  Mrs.  Jim,  I  suppose,"  said  Mrs. 
Gray,  with  some  sarcasm. 

"  No,  it  don't.  She  told  Dade  Walker  that  I  got  all 
the  biggest  flat-irons,  when  she  knows  I  offered  her  the 


240  Prairie  Folks 

bureau.  I  did  everything  I  could  to  make  her  feel 
satisfied." 

u  I  know  you  did,  and  now  you  must  just  keep  cool 
till  I  see  Emmy  myself." 

When  Mrs.  Gray  started  out  on  her  mission  of 
pacification,  she  found  it  to  be  entirely  out  of  her 
control.  The  Coolly  was  actively  partisan.  One  party 
stood  by  the  Harkeys,  and  another  took  Sarah's  part, 
while  the  tertlum  quid  said  it  was  "  all  darn  foolishness." 

Mrs.  Gray  was  appalled  at  the  state  of  affairs,  but 
struggled  to  maintain  a  neutral  position.  In  May,  when 
Bill  and  Sarah  were  married,  things  had  reached  such  a 
stage  that  Emma  was  not  invited  to  the  wedding  supper. 
Nothing  could  have  cut  deeper  than  this  neglect,  and 
thereafter  adherents  of  the  third  remove  declined  to 
speak  when  passing ;  some  even  refused  to  nod.  The 
Harkey  faction  also  condemned  the  early  marriage  of 
Bill  and  Sarah  as  unseemly. 

Soon  after,  Emma  came  again  to  see  Mrs.  Gray,  salty 
with  tears,  and  crushed  with  the  slight  Sarah  had  put 
upon  her.  She  was  a  plain  pale  woman,  anyway,  and 
weeping  made  her  pitiable.  She  explained  the  situation 
with  her  head  on  Mrs.  Gray's  lap  :  — 

"  She  never  has  been  to  see  me  since  that  day,  and  — 
but  I  hoped  she'd  come  and  see  me,  but  she  never  sent 
me  any  invitation  to  her  wedding."  She  choked  with 
sobs  at  the  memory  of  it. 

Mrs.  Gray  realized  the  enormity  of  the  offence,  and 
she  could  only  put  her  arms  around  Emma's  back  and 
say,  u  There,  there,  I  wouldn't  take  on  so  about  it."  As 


Aidgewise  Feelin's  241 

a  matter  of  fact,  she  had  striven  to  have  Bill  send  an 
invitation  to  his  brother-in-law,  but  Bill  was  inflexible 
on  that  point.  With  the  sound  of  the  stolen  cow-bell 
ringing  in  his  ears,  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  ask  Ike 
Harkey  into  his  house. 

After  Emma  grew  a  little  calmer,  Mrs.  Gray  tried 
again  to  bridge  the  chasm.  "  Now,  I  just  believe  if 
you  would  go  to  Sarah  — " 

"  I  can't  do  that !  She'd  slam  the  door  in  my  face. 
Jim's  wife  says  Sarah  said  I  shouldn't  pick  a  single 
currant  out  of  the  garden  this  year  !  " 

"  I  don't  go  much  on  what  Jim's  wife  says,"  put  in 
Mrs.  Gray,  guardedly.  She  had  begun  to  feel  that  Jim's 
wife  was  the  main  disturbing  element. 

The  sisters  really  suffered  from  their  separation.  They 
had  been  so  used  to  running  in  at  all  times  of  the  day 
that  each  missed  the  other  wofully.  It  had  been  their 
habit  whenever  they  needed  each  other  to  help  cook,  or 
cut  a  dress,  to  hang  a  cloth  out  of  the  chamber  window, 
a  sign  which  was  sure  to  bring  help  post-haste ;  but 
now  nothing  would  induce  either  of  them  to  make  the 
first  concession. 

Two  or  three  times  when  Emma,  feeling  especially 
lonely,  was  on  the  point  of  hanging  out  the  signal,  she 
was  prevented  by  the  thought  of  some  cruel  message 
Mrs.  Jim  had  brought.  Jim  lived  on  Ike's  farm  in  a 
small  house  that  had  been  Emma's  first  home,  and  Mrs. 
Jim  was  almost  as  much  in  her  house  as  in  her  own. 
She  had  no  children,  and  was  a  mischief-maker,  not  so 
much  from  ill  will  as  from  a  love  of  dramatic  situations  ; 


242  Prairie  Folks 

it  was  her  life,  this  dramatic  play  of  loves  and  hates 
among  her  friends  and  neighbors. 

Emma  feared  her  husband,  too ;  he  was  so  self- 
contained,  and  so  inexorably  moral,  at  least  in  appear 
ance.  He  sweetly  said  he  bore  no  ill  will  toward  the 
Grays,  but  he  must  insist  that  his  wife  should  not  visit 
them  until  they  apologized.  He  took  the  matter  very 
serenely,  however. 

The  sound  of  the  cow-bell  was  a  constant  daily  irrita 
tion  to  Bill ;  he  was  slow  to  wrath,  but  the  bell  seemed 
to  rasp  on  his  tenderest  nerve ;  it  had  a  curiously  exult 
ant  sound  heard  in  the  early  morning  —  it  seemed  to 
voice  Harkey's  triumph.  Bill's  friends  were  astonished 
at  the  change  in  him.  He  grew  dark  and  thunderous 
with  wrath  whenever  Harkey's  name  was  mentioned. 

One  day  Ike's  cattle  broke  out  of  the  pasture  into 
Bill's  young  oats,  and  though  Ike  hurried  after  them,  it 
seemed  to  Bill  he  might  have  got  them  out  a  little 
quicker  than  he  did.  He  said  nothing  then,  however, 
but  when  a  few  days  later  they  broke  in  again,  he  went 
over  there  in  very  bad  humor. 

"  I  want  this  thing  stopped,"  he  said. 

Ike  was  mending  the  fence.  He  smiled  in  his  sweet 
way,  and  said  smoothly,  "  I'm  sorry,  but  when  they  once 
git  a  taste  of  grain  it's  pretty  hard  to  keep  'em  —  " 

"  Well,  there  ought  to  be  a  new  fence  here,"  said 
Bill.  "  That  fence  is  as  rotten  as  a  pumpkin." 

u  I  s'pose  they  had ;  yes,  sir,  that's  so,"  Harkey  as 
sented  quickly.  "  I'm  ready  to  build  my  half,  you 
know,"  he  said,  "any  time —  any  time  you  are." 


Aidgewise  Feelin's  243 

"  Well,  I'll  build  mine  to-morrow,"  said  Bill.  "  I 
can't  have  your  cattle  pasturing  on  my  oats." 

"  All  right,  all  right.  I'll  have  mine  done  as  quick 
as  yourn." 

"  Well,  see't  you  do ;  I  don't  want  my  grain  all 
tramped  into  the  ground  and  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  have  it." 

Harkey  hastily  gathered  up  his  tools,  saying,  "  Yes, 
yes,  all  right." 

"  You  might  send  home  that  cow-bell  of  mine  while 
you're  about  it,"  Bill  called  after  him,  but  Harkey  did 
not  reply  or  turn  around. 

IV 

THE  line  fence  ran  up  the  bluff  toward  the  summit 
of  the  ridge  to  the  east.  On  each  side  it  was  set  with 
smooth  green  slopes  of  pasture  and  pleasant  squares  of 
wheat,  until  it  reached  the  woods  and  ran  under  the 
oaks  and  walnuts  and  birches  to  the  cliffs  of  lichen- 
spotted  stone  which  topped  the  summit. 

Bill  walked  the  full  length  of  the  fence  to  see  how 
much  of  the  old  material  could  be  used.  He  recog 
nized  the  bell  on  one  of  Harkey's  cattle,  and  he  grew 
wrathful  at  the  sight  of  another  cow  peacefully  gnaw 
ing  the  fresh,  green  grass,  with  the  bell,  which  belonged 
to  the  black  cow,  on  her  neck. 

It  was  mid-spring.  Everywhere  was  the  vivid  green 
of  the  Wisconsin  landscape ;  the  slopes  were  like  care 
fully  tended  lawns,  without  stumps  or  stones ;  the 
groves  rose  up  the  hills,  pink  and  gray  and  green  in 


244  Prairie  Folks 

softly  rounded  billows  of  cherry  bloom  and  tender  oak 
and  elm  foliage.  Here  and  there  under  the  forest  tender 
plants  and  flowers  had  sprung  up,  slender  and  succulent 
like  all  productions  of  a  rich  and  shadowed  soil. 

Early  the  next  morning  Bill  and  his  two  hands  began 
to  work  in  the  meadow,  working  toward  the  ridge  ;  Har- 
key  and  his  brother  and  their  hands  began  at  the  ridge 
and  worked  down  toward  the  meadow ;  each  party 
could  hear  the  axes  of  the  other  ringing  in  the  still, 
beautiful  spring  air. 

Bill's  hired  hand,  on  his  way  to  the  spring  about  the 
middle  of  the  forenoon,  met  Jim  Harkey,  who  said 
wickedly  in  answer  to  a  jocular  greeting  :  — 

"  Don't  give  me  none  of  your  lip  now ;  we'll  break 
your  necks  for  two  cents." 

The  hand  came  to  Bill  with  the  story.  "  Bill, 
they're  on  the  fight." 

"  Oh,  I  guess  not." 

"  Well,  they  be.  We  better  not  run  up  against 
them  to-day  if  we  don't  want  trouble." 

"  Well,  I  ain't  goin'  to  dodge  'em,"  said  Bill ;  "  I 
ain't  in  that  business ;  if  they  want  fight,  we'll  accom 
modate  'em  with  the  best  we've  got  in  the  shop." 

At  noon,  Harkey's  gang  went  to  dinner  a  little  earlier, 
and,  as  they  came  down  the  path  quite  near,  Jim  said 
with  a  sneer  :  — 

"  You  managed  to  git  the  easiest  half  of  the  fence, 
didn't  yeh  ?  " 

"We  took  the  half  that  belongs  to  us,"  said  Bill. 
"  IVe  don't  take  what  don't  belong  to  us." 


Aidgewise  Feelin's  245 

"  Cow-bells,  for  instance,"  put  in  Bill's  hired  hand, 
with  a  provoking  intonation. 

Jim  stopped  and  his  face  twisted  with  rage ;  Ike 
paused  a  little  farther  on  down  the  path.  Jim  came 
closer. 

u  Say,  I  know  what  you're  driving  at  and  you're  a 
liar,  and  for  a  leather  cent  I'd  lick  you  like  hell !  " 

"  You  can't  do  it.     You  don't  weigh  enough." 

« Oh,  shut  up,  Jack,"  called  Bill.  «  Go  about  y'r 
business,"  he  said  to  Jim,  "  or  I'll  take  a  hand." 

Jim's  face  flamed  into  a  wild  wrath.  His  lips  lifted 
at  the  corners  like  a  wolfs  as  he  leaped  the  fence  with 
a  wild  spring  and  lunged  against  Bill's  breast.  The 
larger  man  went  down,  but  his  great  arms  closed  about 
his  assailant's  neck  with  a  bear-like  grip.  Jim  could 
neither  rise  nor  strike  ;  with  a  fury  no  animal  could 
equal  he  pressed  his  hands  upon  Bill's  throat  and  thrust 
his  elbow  into  his  mouth  in  the  attempt  to  strangle 
him.  He  meant  murder. 

Jack  faced  the  other  men,  who  came  running  up. 
Ike  seized  a  stake,  and  was  about  to  leap  over,  when 
Jack  raised  an  axe  in  the  air. 

"Stand  off!"  he  yelled,  and  his  voice  rang  through 
the  woods ;  he  noticed  how  harsh  and  wild  it  sounded  in 
the  silence.  He  heard  a  grunting  sound,  and  gave  one 
glance  at  the  two  men  writhing  amid  the  ferns  silent 
as  grappling  bull-dogs. 

Bill  had  fallen  in  the  brake  and  seemed  wedged  in. 
At  last  there  came  into  his  heart  a  terrible  shiver,  a 
blind  desperation  that  uncoiled  all  the  strength  in  his 


246  Prairie  Folks 

great  bulk.  Then  he  seemed  to  bound  from  the  ground, 
as  he  twisted  the  other  man  under  him,  and  shook  him 
self  free. 

He  dragged  one  great  maul  of  a  fist  free  and  drove  it 
at  the  face  beneath  him.  Jim  saw  it  coming  and  turned 
his  head.  The  blow  fell  on  his  neck  and  his  carnivo 
rous  grin  smoothed  out  as  if  sleep  had  suddenly  fallen 
upon  him.  He  drew  a  long,  shuddering  breath,  his  mus 
cles  quivered,  and  his  clenched  hands  fell  open. 

Bill  rose  upon  his  knees  and  looked  at  him.  A  deep 
awe  fell  upon  him.  In  the  pause  he  heard  the  robins 
rioting  from  the  trees  in  the  lower  valley,  and  the  wood 
pecker  cried  resoundingly. 

"  You've  killed  him  !  "  cried  Ike,  as  he  climbed  hastily 
over  the  fence. 

Bill  did  not  reply.  The  men  faced  each  other  in 
solemn  silence,  all  wish  for  murder  going  out  of  their 
hearts.  The  sobbing  cry  of  the  mourning  dove,  which 
they  had  been  hearing  all  day,  suddenly  assumed  new 
meaning. 

u  Ah,  woe,  woe  is  me  !  "  it  cried. 

"  Bring  water ! "  shouted  Ike,  kneeling  beside  his 
brother. 

Bill  knelt  there  with  him,  while  the  rest  dashed  water 
upon  Jim's  face. 

At  last  he  began  to  breathe  like  a  fretful,  waking 
child,  and  looking  up  into  the  scared  faces  above  him, 
motioned  the  water  away  from  him.  The  angry  look 
came  back  into  his  face,  but  it  was  mixed  with  per 
plexity. 


Aidgewise  Feelin's  247 

He  touched  his  hand  to  his  face  and  brought  it  down 
covered  with  blood.  "  How  much  am  I  hurt  ? "  he  said 
fiercely. 

"  Oh,  nothing  much,"  Ike  hastened  to  say ;  "  it's  just 
a  scratch." 

Jim  struggled  to  his  elbow  and  looked  around  him. 
It  all  seemed  to  come  back  to  him.  "  Did  he  do  it 
fair  ?  "  he  demanded  of  his  companions. 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  it  was  fair  enough,"  said  Ike. 

Jim  looked  at  Jack.  "  That  thing  didn't  hit  me  with 
his  axe,  did  he  ?  " 

Jack  grinned.  "  No,  but  I  was  just  a-goin'  to  when 
Bill  belted  you  one,"  was  the  frank  and  convincing 
reply. 

Jim  got  up  slowly  and  faced  Bill.  "Well,  that 
settles  it ;  it's  all  right !  You're  a  better  man  than  I 
am.  That's  all  I've  got  to  say." 

He  climbed  back  over  the  fence  and  led  the  way  down 
to  dinner  without  looking  back. 

"What  give  ye  that  lick  on  the  side  o'  the  head, 
Jim  ? "  his  wife  asked,  when  he  sat  down  at  the  dinner- 
table. 

"  Never  you  mind,"  he  replied  surlily,  but  he  added, 
"  Ike's  axe  come  off,  and  give  me  a  side-winder." 

Bill  carefully  removed  all  marks  of  his  struggle  and 
walked  into  dinner  shamefacedly,  all  muscle  gone  out 
of  his  bulk  of  fat.  His  sudden  return  to  primeval 
savagery  grew  monstrous  in  the  cheerful  kitchen,  with 
its  noise  of  hearty  children,  sizzling  meat,  and  the  clatter 
of  dishes. 


248  Prairie  Folks 

The  stove  was  not  drawing  well  and  Sarah  did  not 
notice  anything  out  of  the  way  with  Bill. 

u  I  never  see  such  a  hateful  thing  in  all  my  life,"  she 
said,  referring  to  the  stove.  "  That  rhubarb  duff  won't 
be  fit  for  a  hog  to  eat ;  the  undercrust  ain't  baked  the 
least  bit  yet,  and  I  have  had  it  in  there  since  fifteen 
minutes  after  'leven." 

Bill  said  generously,  "  Oh,  well,  never  mind,  Serry ; 
we'll  worry  it  down  some  way." 


ALL  through  July  and  August  Mrs.  Jim  Harkey 
seemed  to  renew  her  endeavors  to  keep  the  sisters  apart ; 
she  still  carried  spiteful  tales  to  and  fro,  amplifying  them 
with  an  irresistible  histronic  tendency.  It  had  become 
a  matter  of  self-exoneration  with  her  then.  She  could 
not  stop  now  without  seeming  to  admit  she  had  been 
mischief-making  in  the  past.  If  the  sisters  should  come 
together,  her  lies  would  instantly  appear. 

Emma  grew  morose,  irritable,  and  melancholy ;  she 
was  suffering  for  her  sister's  wholesome  presence,  and 
yet,  being  under  the  dominion  of  the  mischief-maker, 
dared  not  send  word  or  even  mention  the  name  of  her 
sister  in  the  presence  of  the  Harkeys. 

Mrs.  Jim  came  up  to  the  house  to  stay  as  Emma 
got  too  ill  to  work,  and  took  charge  of  the  house. 
The  children  hated  her  fiercely,  and  there  were  noisy 
battles  in  the  kitchen  constantly  wearing  upon  the 
nerves  of  the  sick  woman  who  lay  in  the  restricted 


Aidgewise  Feelin's  249 

gloom  of  the  sitting  room  bed-chamber,  within  hearing 
of  every  squall. 

There  were  moments  of  peace  only  when  Ike  was  in 
the  house.  Smooth  as  he  was,  Jim's  wife  was  afraid  of 
him.  There  was  something  compelling  in  his  low- 
toned  voice  ;  his  presence  subdued  but  did  not  remove 
strife. 

His  silencing  of  the  tumult  hardly  arose  out  of  any 
consideration  for  his  wife,  but  rather  from  his  inability 
to  enjoy  his  paper  while  the  clamor  of  war  was  going  on 
about  him. 

He  was  not  a  tender  man,  and  yet  he  prided  himself 
on  being  a  very  calm  and  even-tempered  man.  He 
kept  out  of  Bill's  way,  and  considered  himself  entirely 
justified  in  his  position  regarding  the  cow-bell.  It  is 
doubtful  if  he  would  have  accepted  an  apology. 

Emma  suffered  acutely  from  Mrs.  Harkey's  visits. 
Something  mean  and  wearying  went  out  from  her 
presence,  and  her  sharp,  bold  face  was  a  constant  irrita 
tion.  Sometimes  when  she  thought  herself  alone,  Emma 
crawled  to  the  window  which  looked  up  the  Coolly, 
toward  Sarah's  home,  and  sat  there  silently  longing  to 
send  out  a  cry  for  help.  But  at  the  sound  of  Jane 
Harkey's  step  she  fled  back  into  bed  like  a  frightened 
child. 

She  became  more  and  more  childish  and  more  flighty 
in  her  thoughts  as  her  time  of  trial  drew  near,  and  she 
became  more  subject  to  her  jailer.  She  grew  morbidly 
silent,  and  her  large  eyes  were  restless  and  full  of 
pleading. 


250  Prairie  Folks 

One  day  she  heard  Mrs.  Smith  talking  out  in  the 
kitchen. 

u  How  is  Emmy  to-day,  Mrs.  Jim  ?  " 

"  Well,  not  extry.  She  ain't  likely  to  come  out  as 
well  as  usual  this  time,  I  don't  think,"  was  the  brutally 
incautious  reply ;  "  she's  pretty  well  run  down,  and  I 
wouldn't  be  surprised  if  she  had  some  trouble." 

"  I  suppose  Sarah  will  be  down  to  help  you,"  said 
Mrs.  Smith. 

"  Well,  I  guess  not  —  not  after  what  she's  told." 

"  What  has  she  told  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Smith,  in  her 
sweet  and  friendly  voice. 

"  Why,  she  said  she  wouldn't  set  foot  in  this  house 
if  we  all  died." 

u  I  never  heard  her  say  that,  and  I  don't  believe  she 
ever  did  say  it,"  said  Mrs.  Smith,  firmly. 

Emma's  heart  glowed  with  a  swift  rush  of  affection 
toward  her  sister  and  Mrs.  Smith ;  she  wanted  to  cry 
out  her  faith  in  Sarah,  but  she  dared  not. 

Mrs.  Harkey  slammed  the  oven  door  viciously. 
"  Well,  you  can  believe  it  or  not,  just  as  you  like  ;  I 
heard  her  say  it." 

"  Well,  I  didn't,  so  I  can't  believe  it." 

When  Mrs.  Smith  came  in,  Emma  was  ready  to 
weep,  so  sweet  and  cheery  was  her  visitor's  face. 

She  found  no  chance  to  talk  with  her,  however,  for 
Mrs.  Harkey  kept  near  them  during  her  visit.  Once, 
while  Mrs.  Jim  ran  out  to  look  at  the  pies,  Mrs.  Smith 
whispered :  "  Don't  you  believe  what  they  say  about 
Sarah.  She's  just  as  kind  as  can  be  —  I  know  she  is. 


Aidgewise  Feelin's  251 

She's  looking  down  this  way  every  day,  and  I  know 
she'd  come  down  instanter  if  you'd  send  for  her.  I'm 
going  up  that  way,  and  —  " 

She  found  no  further  chance  to  say  anything,  but 
from  that  moment  Emma  began  to  think  of  letting 
Sarah  know  how  much  she  needed  her.  She  planned 
to  hang  out  the  cloth  as  she  used  to.  She  exaggerated 
its  importance  in  the  way  of  an  invalid,  until  it  attained 
the  significance  of  an  act  of  treason.  She  felt  like  a 
criminal  even  in  thinking  about  it. 

Several  times  in  the  night  she  dreamed  she  had  put 
the  cloth  out  and  that  Jim  and  his  wife  had  seen  it 
and  torn  it  down.  She  awoke  two  or  three  times  to 
find  herself  sitting  up  in  bed  staring  out  of  the  window, 
through  which  the  moon  shone  and  the  multitudinous 
sounds  of  the  mid-summer  insects  came  sonorously. 

Once  her  husband  said,  "  What's  the  matter  ?  it 
seems  to  me  you'd  rest  better  if  you'd  lay  down  and 
keep  quiet."  His  voice  was  low  enough,  but  it  had 
a  peculiar  inflection,  which  made  her  sink  back  into 
bed  by  his  side,  shivering  with  fear  and  weeping 
silently. 

The  next  day  Jim  and  her  husband  both  went  off 
to  town,  and  Jim's  wife,  after  about  ten  o'clock,  said  :  — 

"Now,  Emmy,  I'm  going  down  to  Smith's  to  get 
a  dress  pattern,  and  I  want  you  to  keep  quiet  right 
here  in  bed.  I'll  be  right  back;  I'll  set  some  water 
here,  and  I  guess  you  won't  want  anything  else  until 
I  get  back.  I'll  run  right  down  and  right  back." 

After   hearing  the  door  close,  Emma  lay  for  a  few 


252  Prairie  Folks 

minutes  listening,  waiting  until  she  felt  sure  Mrs. 
Harkey  was  well  out  of  the  yard,  then  she  crept  out 
of  bed  and  crawled  to  the  window.  Mrs.  Jim  was  far 
down  the  road ;  she  could  see  her  blue  dress  and  her 
pink  sunbonnet. 

The  sick  woman  seized  the  sheet  and  pulled  it  from 
the  bed ;  the  clothes  came  with  it,  but  she  did  not 
mind  that.  She  pulled  herself  painfully  up  the  stair 
way  and  across  the  rough  floor  of  the  chamber  to  the 
window  which  looked  toward  her  sister's  house,  and 
with  a  wild  exultation  flung  the  sheet  far  out  and 
dropped  on  her  knees  beside  the  open  window. 

She  moaned  and  cried  wildly  as  she  waved  the  sheet. 
The  note  of  a  scared  child  was  in  her  voice. 

u  Oh,  Serry,  come  quick  !  Oh,  I  need  you,  Serry  ! 
I  didn't  mean  to  be  mean  ;  I  want  to  see  you  so  !  Oh, 
dear,  oh,  dear  !  Oh,  Serry,  come  quick !  " 

Then  space  and  the  world  slipped  away,  and  she 
knew  nothing  of  time  again  until  she  heard  the  anxious 
voice  of  Sarah  below. 

"  Emmy,  where  are  you,  Emmy  ?  " 

"  Here  I  be,  Serry." 

With  swift,  heavy  tread  Sarah  hurried  up  the  stairs, 
and  the  dear  old  face  shone  upon  her  again ;  those  kind 
gray  eyes  full  of  anxiety  and  of  love. 

Emma  looked  up  like  a  child  entreating  to  be  lifted. 
Her  look  so  pitifully  eager  went  to  the  younger  sister's 
maternal  heart. 

"  You  poor,  dear  soul !  Why  didn't  you  send  for 
me  before  ? " 


Aidgewise  Feelin's  253 

"  Oh,  Serry,  don't  leave  me  again,  will  you  ? " 

When  Mrs.  Harkey  returned  she  found  Sarah  sitting 
by  Emma's  side  in  the  bed-chamber.  Sarah  looked 
at  her  with  all  the  grimness  her  jolly  fat  face  could 
express. 

"  You  ain't  needed  here"  she  said  coldly.  "  If  you 
want  to  do  anything,  find  a  man  and  send  him  for  the 
Doctor —  quick.  If  she  dies  you'll  be  her  murderer." 

Mrs.  Harkey  was  subdued  by  the  bitterness  of 
accusation  in  Sarah's  face  as  well  as  by  Emma's 
condition.  She  hurried  down  the  Coolly  and  sent  a 
boy  wildly  galloping  toward  the  town.  Then  she 
went  home  and  sat  down  by  her  own  hearthstone 
feeling  deeply  injured. 

When  the  Doctor  came  he  found  a  poor  little  boy 
baby  crying  in  Sarah's  arms.  It  was  Emma's  seventh 
child,  but  the  ever  sufficing  mother-love  looked  from 
her  eyes  undimmed,  limitless  as  the  air. 

"  Will  it  live,  Doctor  ?  It's  so  little,"  she  said,  with 
a  sigh. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  suppose  so  !  "  said  the  Doctor,  as  if 
its  living  were  not  entirely  a  blessing  to  itself  or 
others.  u  Yes,  I've  seen  lots  of  lusty  children  begin 
life  like  that.  But,"  he  said  to  Sarah  at  the  door,  "  she 
needs  better  care  than  the  babe  !  " 

"  She'll  git  it,"  said  Sarah,  with  deep  solemnity,  "  if 
I  have  to  move  over  here  —  and  live." 


254  Prairie  Folks 

GROWING   OLD 

F'R  forty  years  next  Easter  day, 
Him  and  me  in  wind  and  weather 

Have  been  a-gittin'  bent  'n'  gray, 
Moggin'  along  together. 

We're  not  so  very  old,  of  course, 

But  still,  we  ain't  so  awful  spry 
As  when  we  went  to  singin'-school 

Afoot  and  'cross  lots,  him  and  I, 
And  walked  back  home  the  longest  way; 

An'  the  moon  a-shinin'  on  the  snow, 
Makin'  the  road  as  bright  as  day, 

An'  his  voice  soundin'  low. 

Land  sakes  !     Jest  hear  me  talk, 

F'r  all  the  world  jest  like  a  girl, 
Me  —  nearly  sixty  !      Well  —  awell ! 

I  was  so  tall  and  strong,  the  curl 
In  my  hair,  Sim  said,  was  like 

The  crinkles  in  a  medder  brook, 
So  brown  and  bright,  but  there  ! 

I  guess  he  got  that  from  a  book. 

His  talk  in  them  there  days  was  full 

Of  jest  such  nonsense  —  don't  you  think 

I  didn't  like  it,  for  I  did ; 

I  walked  along  there,  glad  to  drink 

His  words  in  like  the  breath  o'  life. 


Growing  Old  255 

Heavens  and  earth,  what  fools  we  women  be  ! 
And  when  he  asked  me  for  his  wife, 
I  answered  "  Yes,"  of  course,  y'  see. 

An'  then  come  work,  and  trouble  bit  — 

Not  much  time  for  love  talk  then. 
We  bought  a  farm  and  mortgaged  it, 

And  worked  and  slaved  like  all  possessed 
To  lift  that  tumble  grindin'  weight. 

I  washed  and  churned  and  sewed, 
An'  childrun  come,  till  we  had  eight ; 

As  han'some  babes  as  ever  growed 
To  walk  beside  a  mother's  knee, 
They  helped  me  bear  it  all,  y'  see. 

It  ain't  been  nothin'  else  but  scrub, 

An'  rub,  and  bake,  and  stew 
The  hull,  hull  time,  over  stove  or  tub ; 

No  time  to  rest  as  men  folks  do. 
I  tell  yeh,  sometimes  I  sit  and  think 

How  nice  the  grave  '//  be,  jest 

One  nice,  sweet,  everlastm'  rest ! 

O  don't  look  scart !      I  mean 

Jest  what  I  say.     Ain't  crazy  yet, 
But  it's  enough  to  make  me  so. 

Of  course  it  ain't  no  use  to  fret, 
Who  said  it  was  ?     It's  nacherl,  though, 

But,  O  if  I  was  only  there 
In  the  past,  and  young  once  more, 


256  Prairie  Folks 

An'  had  the  crinkles  in  my  hair, 
An'  arms  as  round  and  strong,  and  side 
As  it  was  then!      I'd— I'd  — 

I'd  do  it  all  over  again  like  a  fool, 

I  s'pose  !      I'd  take  the  pain, 
An'  work,  an'  worry,  babes  and  all. 

I  s'pose  things  go  by  some  big  rule 
Of  God's  own  book,  but  my  ol'  brain 

Can't  fix  'um  up,  so  I'll  just  wait 
An'  do  my  duty  when  it's  clear, 

An'  trust  to  Him  to  make  it  straight. 
—  Goodness  !   noon  is  almost  here, 

And  there  the  men  come  through  the  gate  ! 


THE   SOCIABLE   AT   DUDLEY'S 


THE   SOCIABLE   AT   DUDLEY'S 


JOHN  JENNINGS  was  not  one  of  those  men  who  go  to 
a  donation  party  with  fifty  cents'  worth  of  potatoes  and 
eat  and  carry  away  two  dollars'  worth  of  turkey  and 
jelly-cake.  When  he  drove  his  team  around  to  the 
front  door  for  Mrs.  Jennings,  he  had  a  sack  of  flour  and 
a  quarter  of  a  fine  fat  beef  in  his  sleigh  and  a  five-dollar 
bill  in  his  pocket-book,  a  contribution  to  Elder  Wheat's 
support. 

Milton,  his  twenty-year-old  son,  was  just  driving  out 
of  the  yard,  seated  in  a  fine  new  cutter,  drawn  by  a 
magnificent  young  gray  horse.  He  drew  up  as  Mr. 
Jennings  spoke. 

"  Now  be  sure  and  don't  never  leave  him  a  minute 
untied ;  and  see  that  the  harness  is  all  right.  Do  you 
hear,  Milton  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  hear !  "  answered  the  young  fellow,  rather 
impatiently,  for  he  thought  himself  old  enough  and  big 
enough  to  look  out  for  himself. 

u  Don't  race,  will  y',  Milton  ? "  was  his  mother's 
anxious  question  from  the  depth  of  her  shawls. 

"Not  if  I  can  help  it,"  was  his  equivocal  response  as 
he  chirruped  to  Marc  Antony.  The  grand  brute  made 
a  rearing  leap  that  brought  a  cry  from  the  mother  and  a 

259 


260  Prairie  Folks 

laugh  from  the  young  driver,  and  swung  into  the  road  at 
a  flying  pace.  The  night  was  clear  and  cold,  the  sleigh 
ing  excellent,  and  the  boy's  heart  was  full  of  exultation. 

It  was  a  joy  just  to  control  such  a  horse  as  he  drew 
rein  over  that  night.  Large,  with  the  long,  lithe  body 
of  a  tiger  and  the  broad,  clear  limbs  of  an  elk,  the  gray 
colt  strode  away  up  the  road,  his  hoofs  flinging  a  shower 
of  snow  over  the  dasher.  The  lines  were  like  steel 
rods ;  the  sleigh  literally  swung  by  them ;  the  traces 
hung  slack  inside  the  thills.  The  bell  clashed  out  a 
swift  clamor;  the  runners  seemed  to  hiss  over  the  snow 
as  the  duck-breasted  cutter  swung  round  the  curves,  and 
softly  rose  and  fell  along  the  undulating  road. 

On  either  hand  the  snow  stood  billowed  against  the 
fences  and  amid  the  wide  fields  of  corn-stalks  bleached 
in  the  wind.  Over  in  the  east,  above  the  line  of  timber 
skirting  Cedar  Creek,  the  vast,  slightly  gibbous  moon 
was  rising,  sending  along  the  crusted  snow  a  broad  path 
of  light.  Other  sleighs  could  be  heard  through  the  still, 
cold  air.  Far  away  a  party  of  four  or  five  were  singing 
a  chorus  as  they  spun  along  the  road. 

Something  sweet  and  unnamable  was  stirring  in  the 
young  fellow's  brain  as  he  spun  along  in  the  marvellously 
still  and  radiant  night.  He  wished  Eileen  were  with 
him.  The  vast  and  cloudless  blue  vault  of  sky  glittered 
with  stars,  which  even  the  radiant  moon  could  not  dim. 
Not  a  breath  of  air  was  stirring  save  that  made  by  the 
swift,  strong  stride  of  the  horse. 

It  was  a  night  for  youth  and  love  and  bells,  and  Mil 
ton  felt  this  consciously,  and  felt  it  by  singing  :  — 


The  Sociable  at  Dudley's  261 

"Stars  of  the  summer  night, 
Hide  in  your  azure  deeps,  — 
She  sleeps  —  my  lady  sleeps. " 


He  was  on  his  way  to  get  Bettie  Moss,  one  of  his 
old  sweethearts,  who  had  become  more  deeply  concerned 
with  the  life  of  Edwin  Bladder.  He  had  taken  the 
matter  with  sunny  philosophy,  even  before  meeting 
Eileen  Deering  at  the  Seminary,  and  he  was  now  on 
his  way  to  bring  about  peace  between  Ed  and  Bettie, 
who  had  lately  quarrelled.  Incidentally  he  expected  to 
enjoy  the  sleigh-ride. 

"Stiddy,  boy!  Ho,  boy!  Stiddy,  old  fellow,"  he 
called  soothingly  to  Marc,  as  he  neared  the  gate  and 
whirled  up  to  the  door.  A  girl  came  to  the  door  as  he 
drove  up,  her  head  wrapped  in  a  white  hood,  a  shawl  on 
her  arms.  She  had  been  waiting  for  him. 

"  Hello,  Milt.     That  you  ?  " 

"  It's  me.      Been  waiting  ?  " 

"  I  should  say  I  had.  Begun  t'  think  you'd  gone 
back  on  me.  Everybody  else's  gone." 

"  Well !  Hop  in  here  before  you  freeze ;  we'll  not 
be  the  last  ones  there.  Yes,  bring  the  shawl ;  you'll 
need  it  t'  keep  the  snow  off  your  face,"  he  called 
authoritatively. 

"  'Tain't  snowin',  is  it  ?  "  she  asked  as  she  shut  the 
door  and  came  to  the  sleigh's  side. 

"  Clear  as  a  bell,"  he  said  as  he  helped  her  in. 

"  Then  where'll  the  snow  come  from  ?  " 

"  From  Marc's  heels." 


262  Prairie  Folks 

"  Goodness  sakes  !  you  don't  expect  me  t'  ride  after 
that  wild-headed  critter,  do  you  ?  " 

His  answer  was  a  chirp  which  sent  Marc  halfway  to 
the-  gate  before  Bettie  could  catch  her  breath.  The 
reins  stiffened  in  his  hands.  Bettie  clung  to  him, 
shrieking  at  every  turn  in  the  road. 

"  Milton  Jennings,  if  you  tip  us  over,  I'll  —  " 

Milton  laughed,  drew  the  colt  down  to  a  steady,  swift 
stride,  and  Bettie  put  her  hands  back  under  the  robe. 

u  I  wonder  who  that  is  ahead  ?  "  he  asked  after  a  few 
minutes,  which  brought  them  in  sound  of  bells. 

"  I  guess  it's  Cy  Hurd ;  it  sounded  like  his  bells 
when  he  went  past.  I  guess  it's  him  and  Bill  an' 
Belle  an'  Cad  Hines." 

"  Expect  to  see  Ed  there  ?  "  asked  Milton,  after  a 
little  pause. 

"I  don't  care  whether  I  ever  see  him  again  or  not," 
she  snapped. 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  do  !  "  he  answered,  feeling  somehow 
her  insincerity. 

"Well_ I  don't!" 

Milton  didn't  care  to  push  the  peace-making  any 
further.  However,  he  had  curiosity  enough  to  ask, 
"  What  upset  things  'tween  you  'n  Ed  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing." 

"  You  mean  none  o'  my  business  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  say  so." 

"No,  you  didn't  need  to,"  he  laughed,  and  she  joined 
in. 

"Yes,  that's  Cy   Hurd.      I  know  that  laugh  of  his 


The  Sociable  at  Dudley's  263 

far's  I  c'n  hear  it,"  said  Bettie  as  they  jingled  along. 
"  I  wonder  who's  with  him  ?  " 

"We'll  mighty  soon  see,"  said  Milton,  as  he  wound 
the  lines  around  his  hands  and  braced  his  feet,  giving  a 
low  whistle,  which  seemed  to  run  through  the  colt's 
blood  like  fire.  His  stride  did  not  increase  in  rate,  but 
its  reach  grew  majestic  as  he  seemed  to  lengthen  and 
lower.  His  broad  feet  flung  great  disks  of  hard-packed 
snow  over  the  dasher,  and  under  the  clash  of  his  bells 
the  noise  of  the  other  team  grew  plainer. 

"  Get  out  of  the  way,"  sang  Milton,  as  he  approached 
the  other  team.  There  was  challenge  and  exultation  in 
his  tone. 

"  Hello  !  In  a  hurry  ?  "  shouted  those  in  front,  with 
out  increasing  their  own  pace. 

"  Ya-as,  something  of  a  hurry,"  drawled  Milton  in 
a  disguised  voice. 

"  Wa-al  ?     Turn  out  an'  go  by  if  you  are." 

"  No,  thankee,  I'll  just  let  m'  nag  nibble  the  hay  out 
o'  your  box  an*  take  it  easy." 

"  Sure  o'  that  ?  " 

"  You  bet  high  I  am."  Milton  nudged  Bettie,  who 
was  laughing  with  delight.  "It's  Bill  an'  his  bays. 
He  thinks  there  isn't  a  team  in  the  country  can  keep 
up  with  him.  "  Get  out  o'  the  way  there  !  "  he  shouted 
again.  "I'm  in  a  hurry." 

"  Let  'em  out,  let  'em  out,  Bill,"  they  heard  Cy  say, 
and  the  bays  sprang  forwa'rd  along  the  level  road,  the 
bells  ringing  like  mad,  the  snow  flying,  the  girls  scream 
ing  at  every  lurch  of  the  sleighs.  But  Marc's  head  still 


264  Prairie  Folks 

shook  haughtily  above  the  end  gate ;  still  the  foam  from 
his  lips  fell  upon  the  hay  in  the  box  ahead. 

"  Git  out  o'  this  !  Yip  ! "  yelled  Bill  to  his  bays,  but 
Marc  merely  made  a  lunging  leap  and  tugged  at  the 
lines  as  if  asking  for  more  liberty.  Milton  gave  him  his 
head,  and  laughed  to  see  the  great  limbs  rise  and  fall  like 
the  pistons  of  an  engine.  They  swept  over  the  weeds 
like  a  hawk  skimming  the  stubble  of  a  wheat-field. 

"  Git  out  o'  the  way  or  I'll  run  right  over  your  back," 
yelled  Milton  again. 

"  Try  it,"  was  the  reply. 

"Grab  hold  of  me,  Bettie,  and  lean  to  the  right. 
When  we  turn  this  corner  I'm  going  to  take  the  inside 
track  and  pass  'em." 

"  You'll  tip  us  over  —  " 

"  No,  I  won't !     Do  as  I  tell  you." 

They  were  nearing  a  wide  corner,  where  the  road 
turned  to  the  right  and  bore  due  south  through  the  woods. 
Milton  caught  sight  of  the  turn,  gave  a  quick  twist  of 
the  lines  around  his  hands,  leaned  over  the  dasher  and 
spoke  shrilly  :  — 

"  Git  out  o'  this,  Marc  !  " 

The  splendid  brute  swerved  to  the  right,  and  made  a 
leap  that  seemed  to  lift  the  sleigh  and  all  into  the  air. 
The  snow  flew  in  such  stinging  showers  Milton  could 
see  nothing.  The  sleigh  was  on  one  runner,  heeling 
like  a  yacht  in  a  gale  ;  the  girl  was  clinging  to  his  neck; 
he  could  hear  the  bells  of  the  other  sleigh  to  his  left ; 
Marc  was  passing  them ;  he  heard  shouts  and  the  swish 
of  a  whip.  Another  convulsive  effort  of  the  gray,  and 


The  Sociable  at  Dudley's  265 

then  Milton  found  himself  in  the  road  again,  in  the 
moonlight,  where  the  apparently  unwearied  horse,  with 
head  out-thrust,  nostril  wide-blown,  and  body  squared, 
was  trotting  like  a  veteran  on  the  track.  The  team 
was  behind. 

"Stiddy,  boy!" 

Milton  soothed  Marc  down  to  a  long,  easy  pace ; 
then  turned  to  Bettie,  who  had  uncovered  her  face 
again. 

«  How  d'  y'  like  it  ?  " 

"  My  sakes  !  I  don't  want  any  more  of  that.  If  I'd 
'a'  known  you  was  goin'  t'  drive  like  that  I  wouldn't 
'a'  come.  You're  worse'n  Ed.  I  expected  every  min 
ute  we'd  be  down  in  the  ditch.  But,  oh  !  ain't  he  jest 
splendid  ?  "  she  added,  in  admiration  of  the  horse. 

u  Don't  y'  want  to  drive  him  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  let  me  try.     I  drive  our  teams." 

She  took  the  lines,  and  at  Milton's  suggestion  wound 
them  around  her  hands.  She  looked  very  pretty  with 
the  moon  shining  on  her  face,  her  eyes  big  and  black 
with  excitement,  and  Milton  immediately  put  his  arm 
around  her,  and  laid  his  head  on  her  shoulder. 

tc  Milton  Jennings,  if  you  don't  — " 

"  Look  out,"  he  cried  in  mock  alarm,  "  don't  you 
drop  those  lines  ! "  He  gave  her  a  severe  hug. 

u  Milton  Jennings,  you  let  go  me  !  " 

"  That's  what  you  said  before." 

"  Take  these  lines." 

"  Can't  do  it,"  he  laughed  ;  "my  hands  are  cold.  Got 
to  warm  them,  see  ? "  He  pulled  off  his  mitten  and 


266  Prairie  Folks 

put  his  icy  hand  under  her  chin.     The  horse  was  going 
at  a  tremendous  pace  again. 

"  O-o-o-oh  !  If  you  don't  take  these  lines  I'll  drop 
'em,  so  there  !  " 

"  Don't  y'  do  it,"  he  called  warningly ;  but  she  did, 
and  boxed  his  ears  soundly  while  he  was  getting  Marc 
in  hand  again.  Bettie's  rage  was  fleeting  as  the  blown 
breath  from  Marc's  nostrils,  and  when  Milton  turned 
to  her  again  all  was  as  if  his  deportment  had  been  grave 
and  cavalier. 

The  stinging  air  made  itself  felt,  and  they  drew  close 
under  their  huge  buffalo  robes  as  Marc  strode  steadily 
forward.  The  dark  groves  fell  behind,  the  clashing  bells 
marked  the  rods  and  miles,  and  kept  time  to  the  songs 
they  hummed. 

"Jingle,  bells  !     Jingle,  bells  ! 
Jingle  all  the  way. 
Oh,  what  joy  it  is  to  ride 
In  a  one-horse  open  sleigh." 

They  overtook  another  laughing,  singing  load  of 
young  folks  —  a  great  wood  sleigh  packed  full  with  boys 
and  girls,  two  and  two  —  hooded  girls,  and  boys  with 
caps  drawn  down  over  their  ears.  A  babel  of  tongues 
arose  from  the  sweeping,  creaking  bob-sleigh,  and  rose 
into  the  silent  air  like  a  mighty  peal  of  laughter. 

II 

A  SCHOOLHOUSE  set  beneath  the  shelter  of  great  oaks 
was  the  centre  of  motion  and  sound.  On  one  side  of  it 


The  Sociable  at  Dudley's  267 

the  teams  stood  shaking  their  bells  under  their  insuffi 
cient  blankets,  making  a  soft  chorus  of  fitful  trills  heard 
in  the  pauses  of  the  merry  shrieks  of  the  boys  playing 
"  pom-pom  pull-away  "  across  the  road  before  the  house, 
which  radiated  light  and  laughter.  A  group  of  young 
men  stood  on  the  porch  as  Milton  drove  up. 

"  Hello,   Milt,"    said    a   familiar   voice   as    he   reined 
Marc  close  to  the  step. 
"  That  you,  Shep  ?  " 
"  Chuss,  it's  me,"  replied  Shep. 
"  How'd  you  know  me  so  far  oft"?  " 
"  Puh  !     Don't  y'  s'pose  I  know  that  horse  an'  those 
bells  —  Miss  Moss,  allow  me  —  "      He  helped  her  out 
with  elaborate  courtesy.     "The  supper  and  the  old  folks 
are  here,  and  the  girls  and  boys  and  the  fun  is  over  to 
Dudley's,"  he  explained  as  he  helped  Bettie  out. 

"  I'll  be  back  soon's  I  put  my  horse  up,"  said  Milton 
to  Bettie.  "  You  go  in  and  get  good  'n'  warm,  and  then 
we'll  go  over  to  the  house." 

"  I  saved  a  place  in  the  barn  for  you,  Milt.  I  knew 
you'd  never  let  Marc  stand  out  in  the  snow,"  said 
Shephard  as  he  sprang  in  beside  Milton. 

"  I  knew  you  would.  What's  the  news  ?  Is  Ed 
here  t'night  ?  " 

"Yeh-up.  On  deck  with  S'fye  Kinney.  It'll 
make  him  swear  when  he  finds  out  who  Bettie  come 
with." 

"  Let  him.     Are  the  Yohe  boys  here  ?  " 
"  Yep.     They're  alwiss  on  hand,  like  a  sore  thumb. 
Bill's  been  drinking,  and  is  likely  to  give  Ed  trouble. 


268  Prairie  Folks 

He  never'll  give  Bettie  up  without  a  fight.  Look  out 
he  don't  jump  onto  your  neck." 

"  No  danger  o'  that,"  said  Milton,  coolly. 

The  Yohe  boys  were  strangers  in  the  neighborhood. 
They  had  come  in  with  the  wave  of  harvest  help  from 
the  South  and  had  stayed  on  into  the  winter,  making 
few  friends  and  a  large  number  of  enemies  among  the 
young  men  of  the  Grove.  Everybody  admitted  that 
they  had  metal  in  them,  for  they  instantly  paid  court  to 
the  prettiest  girls  in  the  neighborhood  without  regard  to 
any  prior  claims. 

And  the  girls  were  attracted  by  these  Missourians, 
their  air  of  mysterious  wickedness,  and  their  muscular 
swagger,  precisely  as  a  flock  of  barn-yard  fowl  are  inter 
ested  in  the  strange  bird  thrust  among  them. 

But  the  Southerners  had  muscles  like  wildcats,  and 
their  feats  of  broil  and  battle  commanded  a  certain  re 
spectful  consideration.  In  fact,  most  of  the  young  men 
of  the  district  were  afraid  of  the  red-faced,  bold-eyed 
strangers,  one  of  the  few  exceptions  being  Milton,  and 
another  Shephard  Watson,  his  friend  and  room-mate  at 
the  Rock  River  Seminary.  Neither  of  these  boys  being 
at  all  athletic,  it  was  rather  curious  that  Bill  and  Joe 
Yohe  should  treat  them  with  so  much  consideration. 

Bill  was  standing  before  the  huge  cannon  stove,  talk 
ing  with  Bettie,  when  Milton  and  Shephard  returned  to 
the  schoolhouse.  The  man's  hard  black  eyes  were 
filled  with  a  baleful  fire,  and  his  wolfish  teeth  shone 
through  his  long  red  mustache.  It  made  Milton  mutter 
under  his  breath  to  see  how  innocently  Bettie  laughed 


The  Sociable  at  Dudley's  269 

with  him.  She  never  dreamed,  and  could  not  have  com 
prehended,  the  vileness  of  the  man's  whole  life  and 
thought.  No  lizard  revelled  in  the  mud  more  hideously 
than  he.  His  conversation  reeked  with  obscenity.  His 
tongue  dropped  poison  each  moment  when  among  his 
own  sex,  and  his  eyes  blazed  it  forth  when  in  the 
presence  of  women. 

"  Hello,  Bill,"  said  Milton,  with  easy  indifference. 
"  How  goes  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  'bout  so-so  You  rather  got  ahead  o'  me 
t'night,  didn't  yeh  ?  " 

"  Well,  rather.  The  man  that  gets  ahead  o'  me  has 
got  t'  drive  a  good  team,  eh  ? "  He  looked  at  Bettie. 

"  I'd  like  to  try  it,"  said  Bill. 

u  Well,  let's  go  across  the  road,"  said  Milton  to 
Bettie,  anxious  to  get  her  out  of  the  way  of  Bill. 

They  had  to  run  the  gauntlet  of  the  whooping  boys 
outside,  but  Bettie  proved  too  fleet  of  foot  for  them  all. 

When  they  entered  the  Dudley  house  opposite,  her 
cheeks  were  hot  with  color,  but  the  roguish  gleam  in 
her  eyes  changed  to  a  curiously  haughty  and  disdainful 
look  as  she  passed  Blackler,  who  stood  desolately  beside 
the  door,  looking  awkward  and  sullen. 

Milton  was  a  great  favorite,  and  had  no  time  to  say 
anything  more  to  Bettie  as  peace-maker.  He  reached 
Ed  as  soon  as  possible. 

"  Ed,  what's  up  between  you  and  Bettie  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  I  can't  find  out,"  Blackler  re 
plied,  and  he  spurred  himself  desperately  into  the  fun. 


270  Prairie  Folks 

III 

"  IT'LL  make  Ed  Bladder  squirm  t'  see  Betsey  come 
in  on  Milt  Jennings's  arm,"  said  Bill  to  Shephard  after 
Milton  went  out. 

"  Wai,  chuss.  I  denk  it  will."  Shephard  was  look 
ing  round  the  room,  where  the  old  people  were  noisily 
eating  supper,  and  the  steaming  oysters  and  the  cold 
chicken's  savory  smell  went  to  his  heart.  One  of  the 
motherly  managers  of  the  feast  bustled  up  to  him. 

"  Shephard,  you  run  over  t'  the  house  an*  tell  the 
young  folks  that  they  can  come  over  t'  supper  about 
eight  o'clock  j  that'll  be  in  a  half  an  hour.  You  under 
stand  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I'm  so  hungry  !  Can't  y'  give  me  a  hunk  o' 
chicken  t'  stay  m'  stomach  ?  " 

Mrs.  Councill  laughed.  "  I'll  fish  you  out  a  drum 
stick,"  she  said.  And  he  went  away,  gnawing  upon  it 
hungrily.  Bill  went  with  him,  still  belching  forth 
against  Blackler. 

"  Jim  said  he  heard  he  said  he'd  slap  my  face  f 'r  a 
cent.  I  wish  he  would.  I'd  lick  the  life  out  of  'im  in 
a  minnit." 

"  Why  don't  you  pitch  into  Milt  ?  He's  got  her 
now.  He's  the  one  y'd  orto  be  dammin'." 

"  Oh,  he  don't  mean  nothin'  by  it.  He  don't  care 
for  her.  I  saw  him  down  to  town  at  the  show  with 
the  girl  he's  after.  He's  jest  makin'  Ed  mad." 

A  game  of  "  Copenhagen  "  was  going  on  as  they  en 
tered.  Bettie  was  in  the  midst  of  it,  but  Milton,  in  the 


The  Sociable  at  Dudley's  271 

corner,  was  looking  on  and  talking  with  a  group  of  those 
who  had  outgrown  such  games. 

The  ring  of  noisy,  flushed,  and  laughter-intoxicated 
young  people  rilled  the  room  nearly  to  the  wall,  and 
round  and  round  the  ring  flew  Bettie,  pursued  by  Joe 
Yohe. 

"  Go  it,  Joe  !  "  yelled  Bill. 

"  You're  good  f 'r  'im,"  yelled  Shephard. 

Milton  laughed  and  clapped  his  hands.  "  Hot  foot, 
Bettie ! " 

Like  another  Atalanta,  the  superb  young  girl  sped, 
now  dodging  through  the  ring,  now  doubling  as  her 
pursuer  tried  to  catch  her  by  turning  back.  At  last 
she  made  the  third  circuit,  and,  breathless  and  laughing, 
took  her  place  in  the  line.  But  Joe  rushed  upon  her, 
determined  to  steal  a  kiss  anyhow. 

"  H'yare  !   H'yare !     None  o'  that." 

"That's  no  fair,"  cried  the  rest,  and  he  was  caught 
by  a  dozen  hands. 

"  She  didn't  go  round  three  times,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  she  did,"  cried  a  dozen  voices. 

"You  shut  up,"  he  retorted  brutally,  looking  at  Ed 
Blackler,  who  had  not  spoken  at  all.  Ed  glared  back,  but 
said  nothing.  Bettie  ignored  Ed,  and  the  game  went  on. 

"  There's  going  to  be  trouble  here  to-night,"  said 
Milton  to  Shephard. 

Shephard,  as  the  ring  dissolved,  stepped  into  the  mid 
dle  of  the  room  and  flourished  his  chicken-leg  as  if  it 
were  a  baton.  After  the  burst  of  laughter,  his  sonorous 
voice  made  itself  heard. 


272  Prairie  Folks 

"  Come  to  supper !  Everybody  take  his  girl  if  he 
can,  and  if  he  can't  —  get  the  other  feller's  girl." 

Bill  Yohe  sprang  toward  Bettie,  but  Milton  had 
touched  her  on  the  arm. 

"  Not  t'night,  Bill,"  he  smilingly  said. 

Bill  grinned  in  reply  and  made  off  toward  another 
well-known  belle,  Ella  Pratt,  who  accepted  his  escort. 
Ed  Blackler,  with  gloomy  desperation,  took  Maud 
Peters,  the  most  depressingly  plain  girl  in  the  room, 
an  action  which  did  not  escape  Bettie's  eyes,  and  which 
softened  her  heart  toward  him  j  but  she  did  not  let  him 
see  it. 

Supper  was  served  on  the  desks,  each  couple  seated  in 
the  drab-colored  wooden  seats  as  if  they  were  at  school. 
A  very  comfortable  arrangement  for  those  who  occupied 
the  back  seats,  but  torture  to  the  adults  who  were 
obliged  to  cramp  their  legs  inside  the  desk  where  the 
primer  class  sat  on  school-days. 

Bettie  saw  with  tenderness  how  devotedly  poor  Ed 
served  Maud.  He  could  not  have  taken  a  better  method 
of  heaping  coals  of  fire  on  her  head. 

Ed  was  entirely  unconscious  of  her  softening,  how 
ever,  for  he  could  not  look  around  from  where  he  sat. 
He  heard  her  laughing  and  believed  she  was  happy. 
He  had  not  taken  poor  Maud  for  the  purpose  of  showing 
his  penitence,  for  he  had  no  such  feeling  in  his  heart ;  he 
was,  on  the  contrary,  rather  gloomy  and  reckless.  He 
was  not  in  a  mood  to  show  a  front  of  indifference. 

The  oysters  steamed ;  the  heels  of  the  boys'  boots 
thumped  in  wild  delight  -,  the  women  bustled  about ; 


The  Sociable  at  Dudley's  273 

the  girls  giggled,  and  the  men  roared  with  laughter. 
Everybody  ate  as  if  he  and  she  had  never  tasted  oyster- 
soup  and  chicken  before,  and  the  cakes  and  pies  went 
the  way  of  the  oyster-soup  like  corn  before  a  troop  of 
winter  turkeys. 

Bill  Yohe,  by  way  of  a  joke,  put  some  frosting  down 
Cy  Kurd's  back,  and,  by  way  of  delicate  attention  to 
Ella,  alternately  shoved  her  out  of  the  seat  and  pulled 
her  back  again,  while  Joe  hurled  a  chicken-leg  at  Cad 
Hines  as  she  stood  in  the  entry-way.  Will  Kinney 
told  Sary  Hines  for  the  fourth  time  how  his  team  had 
run  away,  interrupted  by  his  fear  that  some  kind  of  pie 
would  get  away  untasted. 

"  An'  so  I  laid  the  lines  down  —  H'yare  !  Gimme 
another  handful  of  crackers,  Merry,  —  an'  I  laid  the 
lines  down  while  I  went  t'  find  —  Nary  a  noyster  I 
can  hold  any  more.  Mrs.  Moss,  I'm  ready  Pr  pie  now 
—  an'  so  I  noticed  ole  Frank's  eye  kind  o'  roll,  but 
thinksi,  I  c'n  git  holt  o'  the  lines  if  he  —  Yes'm,  I 
alwiss  eat  mince;  won't  you  try  some,  Sary? — an'  — 
an'  —  so,  jest  as  I  gut  my  axe  —  You  bet  !  I'm  goin'  t' 
try  a  piece  of  every  kind  if  it  busts  my  stummick.  Gutta 
git  my  money's  worth." 

Milton  was  in  his  best  mood  and  was  very  attractive 
in  his  mirth.  His  fine  teeth  shone  and  his  yellow  curls 
shook  under  the  stress  of  his  laughter.  He  wrestled  with 
Bettie  for  the  choice  bits  of  cake,  delighting  in  the  touch 
of  her  firm,  sweet  flesh ;  and,  as  for  Bettie,  she  was 
almost  charmed  to  oblivion  of  Ed  by  the  superior  attrac 
tions  of  Milton's  town-bred  manners.  Ed  looked  singu- 
T 


274  Prairie  Folks 

larly  awkward  and  lonesome  as  he  sat  sprawled  out  in 
one  of  the  low  seats,  and  curiously  enough  his  uncouth- 
ness  and  disconsolateness  of  attitude  won  her  heart  back 
again. 

Everybody,  with  the  usual  rustic  freedom,  had  remarks 
to  make  upon  the  situation. 

u  Wai,  Bettie,  made  a  swop,  hev  yeh  ?  "  said  Councill. 

u  Hello,  Milt ;  thought  you  had  a  girl  down  town." 

"  Oh,  I  keep  one  at  each  end  of  the  line,"  said  Milton, 
with  his  ready  laugh. 

"  Wai,  I  swan  t'  gudgeon  !  I  can't  keep  track  o'  you 
town  fellers.  You're  too  many  Pr  me  !  "  said  Mrs. 
Councill. 

Carrie  Hines  came  up  behind  Milton  and  Bettie  and 
put  her  arms  around  their  necks,  bringing  their  cheeks 
together.  Bettie  grew  purple  with  anger  and  embarrass 
ment,  but  Milton,  with  his  usual  readiness,  said,  "  Thank 
you,"  and  reached  for  the  tittering  malefactor's  waist. 
Nobody  noticed  it,  for  the  room  was  full  of  such  romping. 

The  men  were  standing  around  the  stove  discussing 
political  outlooks,  and  the  matrons  were  busy  with  the 
serving  of  the  supper.  Out  of  doors  the  indefatigable 
boys  were  beginning  again  on  "  pom-pom  pull-away." 

Supper  over,  the  young  folks  all  returned  to  the  house 
across  the  way,  leaving  the  men  of  elderly  blood  to  talk 
on  the  Grange  and  the  uselessness  of  the  middlemen. 
Sport  began  again  in  the  Dudley  farmhouse  by  a  dozen 
or  so  of  the  young  people  "  forming  on  "  for  "  Weevily 
Wheat." 

"  Weevily  Wheat "  was  a  "  donation  dance."     As  it 


The  Sociable  at  Dudley's  275 

would  have  been  wicked  to  have  a  fiddle  to  play  the 
music,  singers  were  substituted  with  stirring  effect,  and 
a  song  was  sung,  while  the  couples  bowed  and  balanced 
and  swung  in  rhythm  to  it :  — 

"  Come  hither,  my  love,  and  trip  together 

In  the  morning  early, 
I'll  give  to  you  the  parting  hand, 

Although  I  love  you  dearly. 
But  I  won't  have  none  of  y'r  weevily  wheat, 

An'  I  won't  have  none  of  y'r  barley, 
But  I'll  have  some  flour  in  a  half  an  hour 

To  bake  a  cake  for  Charley. 

"  Oh,  Charley,  be  is  a  fine  young  man  ; 

Charley,  he  is  a  dandy. 
Oh,  Charley,  he*  s  a  fine  young  man, 

F'r  he  buys  the  girls  some  candy. 
Oh,  I  won* t  have  none  o'  y'r  weevily  wheat, 

I  won't  have  none  o'  y'r  barley, 
But  I'll  have  some  flour  in  a  half  an  hour 

To  bake  a  cake  for  Charley. 

"Oh,  Charley,  he's,"  etc. 

Milton  was  soon  in  the  thick  of  this  most  charming 
old-fashioned  dance,  which  probably  dates  back  to  dances 
on  the  green  in  England  or  Norway.  Bettie  was  a  good 
dancer,  and  as  she  grew  excited  with  the  rhythm  and  swing 
of  the  quaint,  plaintive  music,  her  form  grew  supple  at 
the  waist  and  her  large  limbs  light.  The  pair  moved  up 
and  back  between  the  two  ranks  of  singers,  then  down 
the  outside,  and  laughed  in  glee  when  they  accelerated 


2y 6  Prairie  Folks 

the  pace  at  the  time  when  they  were  swinging  down  the 
centre.  All  faces  were  aglow  and  eyes  shining. 

Bill's  red  face  and  bullet  eyes  were  not  beautiful,  but 
the  grace  and  power  of  his  body  were  unmistakable.  He 
was  excited  by  the  music,  the  alcohol  he  had  been  drink 
ing,  and  by  the  presence  of  the  girls,  and  threw  himself 
into  the  play  with  dangerous  abandon. 

Under  his  ill-fitting  coat  his  muscles  rolled  swift  and 
silent.  His  tall  boots  were  brilliantly  blue  and  starred 
with  gold  at  the  top,  and  his  pantaloons  were  tucked 
inside  the  tops  to  let  their  glory  strike  the  eye.  His 
physical  strength  and  grace  and  variety  of  "  steps  "  called 
forth  many  smiles  and  admiring  exclamations  from  the 
girls,  and  caused  the  young  men  to  lose  interest  in 
"  Weevily  Wheat." 

When  a  new  set  was  called  for,  Bill  made  a  determined 
assault  on  Bettie  and  secured  her,  for  she  did  not  have 
the  firmness  to  refuse.  But  the  singers  grew  weary,  and 
the  set  soon  broke  up.  A  game  of  forfeits  was  substi 
tuted.  This  also  dwindled  down  to  a  mere  excuse  for 
lovers  to  kiss  each  other,  and  the  whole  company  soon 
separated  into  little  groups  to  chatter  and  romp.  Some 
few  sat  at  the  table  in  the  parlor  and  played  "  authors." 

Bettie  was  becoming  annoyed  by  the  attentions  of 
Bill,  and,  to  get  rid  of  him,  went  with  Miss  Lytle,  Mil 
ton,  and  two  or  three  others  into  another  room  and  shut 
the  door.  This  was  not  very  unusual,  but  poor  Blackler 
seemed  to  feel  it  a  direct  affront  to  him  and  was  em 
bittered.  He  was  sitting  by  Ella  Pratt  when  Bill  Yohe 
swaggered  up  to  him. 


The  Sociable  at  Dudley's  277 

"  Say  !     Do  you  know  where  your  girl  is  ?  " 

"  No,  an'  I  don't  care." 

"  Wai !  It's  time  y'  cared.  She's  in  the  other  room 
there.  Milt  Jennings  has  cut  you  out." 

"  You're  a  liar,"  cried  the  loyal  lover,  leaping  to  his 
feet. 

Spat!  Yohe's  open  palm  resounded  upon  the  pale 
face  of  Bladder,  whose  eyes  had  a  wild  glare  in  them, 
and  the  next  moment  they  were  rolling  on  the  floor  like 
a  couple  of  dogs,  the  stronger  and  older  man  above,  the 
valiant  lover  below.  The  house  resounded  with  sudden 
screams,  a  hurry  of  feet  followed,  then  a  hush,  in  the 
midst  of  which  was  heard  the  unsubdued  voice  of 
Blackler  as  he  rose  to  his  feet. 

"You're  a  —  " 

Another  dull  stroke  with  the  knotted  fist,  and  the 
young  fellow  went  to  the  floor  again,  while  Joe  Yohe, 
like  a  wild  beast  roused  at  the  sight  of  blood,  stood 
above  the  form  of  his  brother  (who  had  leaped  upon  the 
fallen  man),  shouting  with  the  hoarse,  raucous  note  of  a 
tiger :  — 

«  Give  'im  hell !     I'll  back  yeh." 

Bettie  pushed  through  the  ring  of  men  and  women 
who  were  looking  on  in  delicious  horror  —  pushed 
through  quickly  and  yet  with  dignity.  Her  head  was 
thrown  back,  and  the  strange  look  on  her  face  was 
thrilling.  Facing  the  angry  men  with  a  gesture  of 
superb  scorn  and  fearlessness,  she  spoke,  and  in  the 
deep  hush  her  quiet  words  were  strangely  impressive  :  — 

"  Bill  Yohe,  what  do  you  think  you're  doing  ?  " 


278  Prairie  Folks 

For  a  moment  the  men  were  abashed,  and,  starting 
back,  they  allowed  Bladder,  dazed,  bleeding,  and  half 
strangled,  to  rise  to  his  feet.  He  would  have  sprung 
against  them  both,  for  he  had  not  heard  or  realized  who 
was  speaking,  but  Bettie  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm,  and 
the  haughty  droop  of  her  eyelids  changed  as  she  said  in 
a  tender  voice  :  — 

"  Never  mind,  Ed  ;  they  ain't  worth  mindin' !  " 

Her  usual  self  came  back  quickly  as  she  led  him 
away.  Friends  began  to  mutter  now,  and  the  swagger 
of  the  brothers  threatened  further  trouble.  Their  eyes 
rolled,  their  knotted  hands  swung  about  like  bludgeons. 
Threats,  horrible  snarls,  and  oaths  poured  from  their 
lips.  But  there  were  heard  at  this  critical  moment  rapid 
footsteps  —  a  round,  jovial  voice  —  and  bursting  through 
the  door  came  the  great  form  and  golden  head  of  Lime 
Oilman. 

"  Hold  on  here  !  What's  all  this  ?  "  he  said,  leaping 
with  an  ominously  good-natured  smile  into  the  open 
space  before  the  two  men,  whose  restless  pacing  stopped 
at  the  sound  of  his  voice.  His  sunny,  laughing  blue  eyes 
swept  around  him,  taking  in  the  situation  at  a  glance. 
He  continued  to  smile,  but  his  teeth  came  together. 

"  Git  out  o'  this,  you  hounds  !  Git  !  "  he  said,  in  the 
same  jovial  tone.  "  You  !  You"  he  said  to  Bill,  slap 
ping  him  lightly  on  the  breast  with  the  back  of  his  lax 
fingers.  Bill  struck  at  him  ferociously,  but  the  slope- 
shouldered  giant  sent  it  by  with  his  left  wrist,  kicking 
the  feet  of  the  striker  from  under  him  with  a  frightful 
swing  of  his  right  foot,  —  a  trick  which  appalled  Joe. 


The  Sociable  at  Dudley's  279 

"  Clear  the  track  there,"  ordered  Lime.  "  It's  against 
the  law  t'  fight  at  a  donation  ;  so  out  y'  go." 

Bill  crawled  painfully  to  his  feet. 

"  I'll  pay  you  for  this  yet." 

"Any  time  but  now.  Git  out,  'r  I'll  kick  you  out." 
Lime's  voice  changed  now.  The  silent  crowd  made 
way  for  them,  and,  seizing  Joe  by  the  shoulder  and 
pushing  Bill  before  him,  the  giant  passed  out  into  the 
open  air.  There  he  pushed  Bill  off  the  porch  into  the 
snow,  and  kicked  his  brother  over  him  with  this  parting 
word  :  — 

"  You  infernal  hyenies !  Kickin's  too  good  f 'r 
you.  If  you  ever  want  me,  look  around  an'  you'll 
find  me." 

Then,  to  the  spectators  who  thronged  after,  he  apolo 
gized  :  — 

"  I  hate  t'  fight,  and  especially  to  kick  a  man ;  but 
they's  times  when  a  man's  got  t'  do  it.  Now,  jest  go 
back  and  have  a  good  time.  Don't  let  them  hyenies 
spoil  all  y'r  fun." 

That  ended  it.  All  knew  Lime.  Everybody  had 
heard  that  he  could  lift  one  end  of  a  separator  and 
toss  a  two-bushel  sack  filled  with  wheat  over  the  hind 
wheel  of  a  wagon,  and  the  terror  of  his  kick  was  not 
unknown  to  them.  They  were  certain  the  Yohes 
would  not  return,  and  all  went  back  into  the  house  and 
attempted  to  go  on  with  the  games.  But  it  was  impos 
sible;  such  exciting  events  must  be  discussed,  and  the 
story  was  told  and  retold  by  each  one. 

When  Milton  returned  to  the  parlor,  he  saw  Bettie, 


280  Prairie  Folks 

tender,  dignified,  and  grave,  bending  over  Bladder,  bath 
ing  his  bruised  face.  Milton  had  never  admired  her 
more  than  at  that  moment ;  she  looked  so  womanly. 
She  no  longer  cared  what  people  thought. 

The  other  girls,  pale  and  tearful  and  a  little  hysterical, 
stood  about,  close  to  their  sweethearts.  They  enjoyed 
the  excitement,  however,  and  the  fight  appealed  to 
something  organic  in  them. 

The  donation  party  was  at  an  end,  that  was  clear, 
and  the  people  began  to  get  ready  to  go  home.  Bettie 
started  to  thank  Lyman  for  his  help. 

"  Don't  say  anything.  I'd  'a'  done  it  jest  the  same 
f 'r  anybody.  It  ain't  the  thing  to  come  to  a  donation 
and  git  up  a  row." 

Milton  hardly  knew  whether  to  ask  Bettie  to  go  back 
with  him  or  not,  but  Blackler  relieved  him  from  embar 
rassment  by  rousing  up  and  saying  :  — 

"  Oh,  I'm  all  right  now,  Bettie.  Hyere's  yer  girl, 
Milt.  See  the  eye  I've  got  on  me  ?  She  says  she  won't 
ride  home  with  any  such  —  " 

"  Ed,  what  in  the  world  do  you  mean  ?  "  Bettie 
could  hardly  understand  her  lover's  sudden  exultation  ; 
it  was  still  a  very  serious  matter  to  her,  in  spite  of  the 
complete  reconciliation  which  had  come  with  the  assault. 
She  felt  in  a  degree  guilty,  and  that  feeling  kept  her  still 
tearful  and  subdued,  but  Ed  leered  and  winked  with  his 
good  eye  in  uncontrollable  delight.  Milton  turned  to 
Bettie  at  last,  and  said  :  — 

"  Well !  I'll  get  Marc  around  to  the  door  in  a  few 
minutes.  Get  your  things  on." 


The  Sociable  at  Dudley's  281 

Bettie  and  Ed  stood  close  together  by  the  door.  She 
was  saying :  — 

"  You'll  forgive  me,  won't  you,  Ed  ?  " 

"  Why,  course  I  will,  Bettie.  I  was  as  much  to  blame 
as  you  was.  I  no  business  to  git  mad  till  I  knew  what 
I  was  gittin'  mad  at." 

They  were  very  tender  now. 

"  I'll  —  I'll  go  home  with  you,  if  you  want  me  to, 
'stead  of  with  Milt,"  she  quavered. 

"  No,  I've  got  to  take  S'fye  home.  It's  the  square 
thing." 

"All  right,  Ed,  but  come  an'  let  me  talk  it  all 
straight," 

u  It's  all  straight  now ;  let's  let  it  all  go,  what  do 
you  say  ?  " 

«  All  right,  Ed." 

There  was  a  kiss  which  the  rest  pretended  not  to 
hear,  and  bidding  them  all  good  night,  Bettie  ran  out 
to  the  fence,  where  Milton  sat  waiting. 

The  moon  was  riding  high  in  the  clear,  cold  sky,  but 
falling  toward  the  west,  as  they  swung  into  the  wood 
road.  Through  the  branches  of  the  oaks  the  stars,  set 
in  the  deep-blue,  fathomless  night,  peered  cold  and 
bright.  There  was  no  wind  save  the  rush  of  air  caused 
by  the  motion  of  the  sleigh.  Neither  of  the  young 
people  spoke  for  some  time.  They  lay  back  in  the 
sleigh  under  the  thick  robes,  listening  to  the  chime  of 
the  bells,  the  squeal  of  the  runners,  and  the  weirdly 
sweet  distant  singing  of  another  sleigh-load  of  young 
people  far  ahead. 


282  Prairie  Folks 

Milton  pulled  Marc  down  to  a  slow  trot,  and,  tighten 
ing  his  arm  around  Bettie's  shoulders  in  a  very  brotherly 
hug,  said  :  — 

"Well,  I'm  glad  you  and  Ed  have  fixed  things  up 
again.  You'd  always  have  been  sorry." 

"  It  was  all  my  fault,  anyway,"  replied  the  girl,  with 
a  little  tremor  in  her  voice,  "  and  it  was  all  my  fault 
to-night,  too.  I  no  business  to  'a'  gone  off  an'  left  him 
that  way." 

"  Well,  it's  all  over  now,  anyway,  and  so  I  wouldn't 
worry  any  more  about  it,"  said  Milton,  soothingly,  and 
then  they  fell  into  silence  again. 

The  sagacious  Marc  Antony  strode  steadily .  away, 
and  the  two  young  lovers  went  on  with  their  dreaming. 
Bettie  was  silent  mainly,  and  Milton,  his  mind  filled  with 
love  for  Eileen,  was  remembering  the  long  rides  they 
had  had  together.  And  the  horse's  hoofs  beat  a  steady 
rhythm,  the  moon  fell  to  the  west,  and  the  bells  kept 
cheery  chime.  The  breath  of  the  horse  rose  into  the 
air  like  steam.  The  house-dogs  sent  forth  warning 
howls  as  they  went  by.  Once  or  twice  they  passed 
houses  where  the  windows  were  still  lighted  and  where 
lanterns  were  flashing  around  the  barn,  where  the  horses 
were  being  put  in  for  the  night. 

The  lights  were  out  at  the  home  of  Bettie  when  they 
drove  up,  for  the  young  people,  however  rapidly  they 
might  go  to  the  sociable,  always  returned  much  slower 
than  the  old  folks.  Milton  leaped  out  and  held  up  his 
arms  to  help  his  companion  down.  As  she  shook  the 
robes  free,  stood  up  and  reached  out  for  his  arms,  he 


The  Sociable  at  Dudley 's  283 

seized  her  round  the  waist,  and,  holding  her  clear  of  the 
ground,  kissed  her  in  spite  of  her  struggles. 

"  Milton  !  " 

"  The  last  time,  Bettie ;  the  last  time,"  he  said,  in 
extenuation.  With  this  mournful  word  on  his  lips  he 
leaped  into  the  sleigh  and  was  off  like  the  wind.  But 
the  listening  girl  heard  his  merry  voice  ringing  out  on 
the  still  air.  Suddenly  something  sweet  and  majestic 
swept  upon  her  —  something  which  made  her  look  up 
into  the  glittering  sky  with  vast  yearning.  In  the  awful 
hush  of  the  sky  and  the  plain  she  heard  the  beat  of  her 
own  blood  in  her  ears.  She  longed  for  song  to  express 
the  swelling  of  her  throat  and  the  wistful  ache  of  her 
heart. 


AN    AFTERWORD:    OF    WINDS, 
SNOWS,    AND   THE   STARS 

0  witchery  of  the  winter  night 

(With  broad  moon  shouldering  to  the  west)  ! 

In  the  city  streets  the  west  wind  sweeps 
Before  my  feet  in  rustling  flight-, 
The  midnight  snows  in  untracked  heaps 
Lie  cold  and  desolate  and  white. 

1  stand  and  wait  with  upturned  eyes, 
Awed  with  the  splendor  of  the  skies 
And  star-trained  progress  of  the  moon. 

The  city  walls  dissolve  like  smoke 
Beneath  the  magic  of  the  moon, 
And  age  falls  from  me  like  a  cloak ; 
I  hear  sweet  girlish  voices  ring 
Clear  as  some  softly  stricken  string  — 
(  The  moon  is  sailing  to  the  west.) 
The  sleigh-bells  clash  in  homeward  flight ; 
With  frost  each  horse's  breast  is  white — 
(The  big  moon  sinking  to  the  west.) 
***** 

"  Good  night,  Lettie  !  " 

"  Good  night,  Ben  !  " 
(The  moon  is  sinking  at  the  west.) 
"  Good  night,  my  sweetheart."      Once  again 
The  parting  kiss  while  comrades  wait 
Impatient  at  the  roadside  gate, 
And  the  red  moon  sinks  beyond  the  west. 
284    ' 


A   NEW  EDITION 

ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

BY 

HAML1N   GARLAND 
Cloth.     i2mo.    $1.50 


WILLIAM  DEAN  HO  WELLS 

"  I  cherish  with  a  grateful  sense  of  the  high  pleasure  they  have 
given  me  Mr.  Garland's  splendid  achievements  in  objective 
fiction." 

THE   CRITIC 

"  Its  realism  is  hearty,  vivid,  flesh  and  blood  realism,  which 
makes  the  book  readable  even  to  those  who  disapprove  most 
conscientiously  of  many  things  in  it." 

THE  NEW  AGE 

"  It  is,  beyond  all  manner  of  doubt,  one  of  the  most  powerful 
novels  of  recent  years.  It  has  created  a  sensation." 

KANSAS   CITY  JOURNAL 

"  After  the  fashion  of  all  rare  vintages  Mr.  Garland  seems  to 
improve  with  age.  No  more  evidence  of  this  is  needed  than 
a  perusal  of  his  i  Rose  of  Butcher's  Coolly.'  One  might  sum 
up  the  many  excellences  of  the  entire  story  by  saying  that  it 
is  not  unworthy  of  any  American  writer." 


THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

66   FIFTH  AVENUE 

NEW  YORK 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  GOLD   SEEKERS. 

A  RECORD   OF   TRAVEL   IN  PROSE  AND   VERSE. 

BY 

HAMLIN   GARLAND, 

Author  of  "Rose  ofDutcher's  Coolly"  etc. 
12mo.    Cloth.    $1.50. 


Chicago  Evening  Post :  It  is  safe  to  say  that  never  again  will 
the  North  witness  such  a  furious  rush  of  men  as  that  which  took 
place  between  August,  1897,  and  June,  1898.  The  wild  places 
are  rapidly  being  settled,  and  the  last  great  march  of  pioneers 
has  probably  taken  place  in  America.  No  one  is  likely  to  write 
a  finer  lyric  of  the  (Klondike)  trail  than  Hamlin  Garland's  record 
of  travel  in  prose  and  verse. 

Philadelphia  American :  It  is  the  one  book  on  that  subject 
that  will  survive  all  those  that  have  been  written.  ...  It  is 
evident  that,  though  Mr.  Garland  didn't  bring  any  gold  back 
with  him,  he  brought  something  infinitely  better,  and  it  is  all 
contained  here  in  this  handy  little  volume. 

Inter-Ocean:  This  volume  deals  in  facts,  and  for  this  it  is 
valuable,  but  to  the  general  reader  it  is  much  more  than  that. 
It  is  a  charmingly  told  story,  abounding  in  incidents  and  descrip 
tions,  and  never  a  dull  page. 

Boston  Saturday  Evening  Gazette :  He  gives  some  admira 
ble  and  most  vivid  sketches  of  Western  character,  and  seems  to 
have  come  in  contact  with  a  rare  number  of  originals  whom  he 
describes  with  rare  art  and  humor.  It  is  a  most  readable  and 
entertaining  book. 


THE   MACMILLAN    COMPANY, 

66  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

RENEWALS  ONLY—TEL.  NO.  642-3405 
This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 

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